A World of Bloody Evolution
by RedrumSprinkles
Summary: As the 41st millennium draws to a close, Yang Xiao Long appears in the Imperium of Man, lost and bereaving the death of her sister. Unending war and horrors the likes of which she's never known await...
1. In the Cold Light of Day

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 1: In the Cold Light of Day-**

_"In those days, legions uncountable shall march under the banner of a Fallen Star. Hear their boots, my brothers and sisters! Hear them thunder across the Galaxy!" – Farseer Sylvis_

A chorus of birds sang their morning cry, awakening Yang from a deep slumber. The soil beneath her was soft and fresh, the scent of rain clinging to its moss and lichens with a rich, earthy aroma. She rubbed her eyes, not remembering how she arrived in such an alien forest.

The trees were unlike any she had seen before, twisted and gnarled beyond imagination. Some were so large they could have served as apartment buildings. She sat up to survey her surroundings. A half-remembered dream clung to the edges of her consciousness, flashes of a pale face and a red cloak. Rubbing her eyes, she gave a big yawn, stretching her arms wide.

No hangover, which was odd. It wasn't often Yang found herself in an unfamiliar location with no memory without the influence of alcohol. She was sure she had been drinking last night as well. She sighed, running her fingers through her waist-length golden hair, clearing it of the dirt and twigs that infested it.

Drink was a constant companion for her, ever since Ruby sacrificed herself those scant few years ago. She'd said her goodbye, watched her go, holding her hand when she passed. It hurt so much. Her sister, the one person she loved most in the world, sworn to protect and cherish, gone. Only in the imbibing of iridescent solutions would solace visit her, pity her.

Yes, Yang Xiao Long knew grief.

She tried not to let it rule her, but that was a hopeless pursuit. In time, maybe it'd be better, but two years wasn't enough. For now, finding out where she was would have to occupy her thoughts.

Ember Celica still graced her arms, the familiar shotgun-gauntlets shining bright in the pre-dawn glow. Good. If she was out in an unknown forest, grimm might be near. There weren't nearly as many as there used to be, but caution is always prudent.

Not that Yang couldn't just use her fists to brutalize anything that crossed her path. The gauntlets merely helped.

"I suppose I should get a better view," she muttered. With a few blasts from Ember Celica, she was straddling the branch of the tallest tree, surveying her surroundings. Behind her, the forest stretched up soaring mountains, sheer and grey. Clouds hung low to the earth, white haze that whispered over the viridian woods.

To her left was a city, surrounded by smaller communities. The buildings looked strange to her. They were taller than most of the structures in Vale, and much darker. Reaching to the sky, they glimmered obsidian, spires of incredible magnitude.

Around the city lay miles and miles of farmland. Golden wheat stretched all the way to the horizon, rustling in the chill morning breeze.

If there was any hope of finding a way back to her home – and a drink – the city was where it lay. It didn't take her long to leave the forest. Travel is always a cinch for someone who can conduct aura through their weapons.

The land beyond the forest was hilly, but manageable. Long leaves of wheat caressed her passing. She ran her fingers through it, combing the strands with gloved fingers. With a deep breath of chill morning air, she felt… refreshed. It had been awhile since she felt so relaxed and free. Maybe getting out of Vale helped with that.

Farmland stretched before her, surrounding the villages that sat at the city's feet. She crested a hill, relishing the warm morning sun at her back. A small gathering of farmers sat at the base of the hill, implements resting on shoulders. Today's work was about to begin.

"Uh… greetings!" She called down to them. They jerked up in response, squinting against the yellow glare. They were a dark-skinned lot, stocky and strong with roan-colored hair. Huge farming machines flanked them, bulky and baroque in appearance.

"Hello!" A little girl replied, waving her arm back and forth. Descending, Yang approached the small crowd. They were dressed simply, in rags of linen and wool. Wide-brimmed hats sat on their heads, carefully woven from straw. The only object of worth they appeared to posses were necklaces in the shape of double-headed eagles, wrought in a dark, polluted gold. They regarded her with suspicion, eyes carefully checking her over for signs of hostility. In a disarming gesture, she raised her hands, fingers spread wide.

"Sorry for bothering you guys, but I'm awfully lost. Can you guys point me to the nearest transit station?" The little girl stepped forward before her mother pulled her back. An older man turned to face her.

"And who might you be?"

"The name's Yang. I'm a Huntress!" A few nods, and relieved smiles.

"Ah!" The man said, beaming. "We don't get many of your type this close to Aesbrouth." That was odd. One, she'd never heard of a city called Aesbrouth, and two, Hunters and Huntresses were fairly common sights among the Four Kingdoms. "Any game?" He inquired. Eager to continue exploring, and careful not to throw away their easily earned trust, she nodded.

"There's a few packs of…beasts… in the woods back there that I've been tracking. Probably what led me all the way here!" She said with a small, awkward laugh. They nodded.

"I can't tell you how many acres we've lost to those _Jortni_! Well, there's an Administratum station in the village. I'm sure you can get your bearings there." He took the little girl by the shoulder. "Little Hilde here will show you the way. She's not old enough for harvest work anyway." Hilde pouted, putting her hands on her hips and huffing loudly. Yang let out a small giggle. This girl reminded her of herself when she was little. Small in stature, but with a generous helping of spunk. Nevertheless, she looked happy to escort Yang around the village.

"You have really pretty hair, Ms. Y...Y…Yang!" She said, turning to reveal a beaming smile.

"Thank you sweetheart." She said, stooping to ruffle her hair. The adults chuckled.

"Be back soon, ok? We'll need your help with the animals later." Hilde nodded vigorously, taking Yang's hand and pulling her along.

The village was stunning to behold up close. It was designed to maximize horizontal space. The simple apartment buildings and houses stacked upon each other, rising several stories into the air. Countless bridges and walkways lay over the street, just tall enough for enormous tractors to pass under. Around them, the village was stirring to life. Doors creaked open, spilling forth yawning farmers. Tools and equipment galore lined the dirt streets, a hub of activity.

"Your family must keep pretty busy," Yang said.

"Oh yes!" Hilde said, nodding. Her nutmeg-brown braids bounced against her shoulders. "Our crops keep the Imperium healthy and strong." Lost in observation, Yang only nodded.

"That's nice." Fluttering posters lined the street, each stamped with a black 'I'. Small skulls bordered the paper, centered around a pair of soldiers, one male, one female. Clad in solid green armor and posed heroically against a cliff, it was obviously a recruitment poster.

'To the faithful servants of the Imperium!' It read. 'Avoid Conscription! Volunteer for the yearly Tithe!' Additional information was attached to the bottom of the poster in tiny, easy-to-tear-tickets. Only a few were missing. Yang tore one loose from its brethren, giving it a closer look. There was no Empire in Remnant. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

She read it closely, hand still clutched by Hilde. 'In six month's time, the annual Imperial Tithe is due! Join now for a chance to serve the Emperor with faith and zeal! Surrender this stub to your local Departmento Munitorum warehouse to participate in this chance for impossible glory in his name!' Sticking it into a pocket in her vest, she decided to think about it later.

Hilde was too cute to ignore for long anyway.

"There's my house!" She chirped, gesturing emphatically. It was a squat building, with rusted door hinges and chipping paint. It reminded Yang of Dad's cottage in Patch. Worn, but lived-in and comfortable. "Say Ms. Yang, what's it like being a Huntress?"

"Well…" Images of Ruby flashed before her, before she swallowed them with a fake smile. "It's awesome! I get to make a difference and help out lots of people."

"That's so cool… I wish I wasn't a farmer…"

"Hey, being a farmer's not so bad!" Yang said. "You got… wheat… and… cute little animals!" Hilde giggled.

"You're funny, Ms. Yang. Yang. That's a funny name. I've never heard it before!"

"Thank… you?" Hilde smiled.

"There's the Admina… Admnia… Adminiastratum! I hope you find what you're looking for!" She said, pointing to a tall building utterly unlike its neighbors. It was tall, with gothic flairs to its black metal siding. 'Administratum' was emblazoned on its side in large, blocky letters. _Must be some kind of Police station_, Yang thought

"Me too. Thanks Hilde. You run along now, tell your family I said thanks!" The girl looked sad to be parted from Yang so soon, but smiled anyway.

"I will!" She dashed away.

Ducking inside the building, Yang looked around. Huge rolls of paper sat in cubbyholes, capped with black metal seals. A Policewoman in greenish gray uniform sat at a towering metallic desk. Hoping she would find some answers, she approached her. When she neared the desk, she noticed the policewoman was accompanied by a being that was more machine than man.

It whirred and clicked, furiously scribing on a thick sheet of parchment. No face was visible behind its black mask and red hood. Extraneous limbs hissed and scratched at the paper, aiding this… thing… in its unknowable task.

Yang recoiled in horror. She had never seen something so... mutilated before. The woman flanking the metal monstrosity sighed. Taking a large sip of bitter black coffee from a steaming plastic mug, she waved Yang over. Dark bags hung from her sunken eyes. Taut, unpainted lips pulled tight in an unsightly frown. A few strands of salt and pepper hair fell out from her cap.

"What's the matter, never see a servitor before?" Her voice was hoarse and gruff, as if someone had taken sandpaper to her larynx.

"I… uh… no, ma'am." The woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Gonna be one of those days." She muttered. "What can I help you with, citizen?"

"Look, Ms…. Vadiik," Yang started, trying to decipher the small print on her name tag, "I'm extremely lost."

"No kiddin'."

"No, I'm not. I woke up in the woods over there," She jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards the forest, "and I have no idea how I got here." The woman blinked at her. The servitor continued to scribble away, making Yang shudder. "Can I just have a map or something?"

"Yeah. Gimmie a sec. First, let's just get this on record." She snapped her fingers at the servitor, causing its writings to cease for a moment. "Ay-o, Ralphie, start a new incident form." Without looking, the flesh-metal construct removed a piece of a paper from a stack, one of its many appendages poised with a pen, ready to write. "Can I get your full name, Miss?"

Yang just wanted a map.

"Yeah, name's Yang Xiao Long." The servitor whirred and spluttered, meaningless robotic syllables pouring out of its unseen mouth.

"Easy there Ralphie, belay that."

"BELAYING," it said in an artificial voice.

"Can you spell that, Ms… Long?"

"Why-Ay-En-Gee," She waited for the woman to nod before she continued. "Ex-Ai-Ay-Oh, El-Oh-En-Gee."

"Transcribe as phonetically described." She muttered. The servitor obeyed. "That's an unusual name, Ms. Long. One I ain't seen likes of on Woadia."

"Woadia?" The woman stared at Yang, completely bewildered.

"Now I deal with a lot of backbirths out here in this shit-hole post, but I don't I've ever encountered someone so incredibly stupid they don't know what _planet_ they live on." Whoa, whoa, what did she say? _Planet_? Uh-oh. Danger. Either she was having one hell of a dream, or something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

"Uh… Ms. Long? Do you have any I.D on you?" Oh right. She pulled out her wallet, which had her I.D., a piece of plastic with a picture of her grinning broadly, flashing 'peace' to the camera. A few lien notes stuck out of the leather slats, edges worn and fuzzy. Pictures of team RWBY were there too, battered and worn but warm and familiar. And heart-rending.

"Here you go ma'am." She slid the I.D. card out and gave it to her. Officer Vadiik looked it over for a few seconds before sighing and lighting up a cigarette.

"I see now. This is a joke. You came to this station to waste my time with some bullshit story and a made-up I.D. And I thought you were dumb enough to not know what planet you were on!" She shook her head. Flicking the I.D. back to Yang, she shooed her away. "Now leave, before I arrest you for wasting my time."

"Now hold on-" Yang said, before she was stopped by a red burst of blossoming pain in her head. "Ah. Ouch." She opened her mouth, realizing her teeth had begun to grind together. "What was that?" A police officer of some kind burst through the door, panting.

"Raiders! Spilling out of the Warp," he wheezed, his face ashen from fear and exertion. "They got a dozen ships coming down. No idea how many more might be coming."

The cigarette Vadiik had been holding fell into her coffee, extinguishing its faint light and sizzling gently. Her mouth fell open

"Uh…what?" Yang asked.

"Golden Throne of Terra." The older woman whispered, ignoring Yang. The woman looked at her, face grim and twisted in fear. "Raiders? So far from the Eye?" At once, the place was a hive of activity. Civilians were rushed out of the building, and officers scrambled for weapons. Shouts of panic and confusion reigned.

"Um… what's going on.?" Yang asked.

"Look Ms. Long, I've served in the Imperial Guard for forty-five years. I've _seen_ my share of the arch-foe. And they're going to do their best to kill, rape, and torture every single person on this planet. I pray to the Emperor they didn't come in numbers." A green-uniformed officer approached Vadiik carrying a giant box on his back. An antenna stretched out from it. He handed her a receiver of some kind.

"We got Colonel Brandt on vox for you, Ma'am!" She snatched the receiver from his hands.

"This is Vadiik. Yeah. Ok. Understood." There was a pause. "We'll do our best. The Emperor Protects." She nodded at the man, who looked at her questioningly.

"Get your wargear and soldier up. No PDF back up here. Not for awhile at least." Vadiik turned to Yang, who was still very confused as to what was going on.

"Ms. Long, my suggestion is you either pick up a lasgun, or find a deep fucking hole to hide in. Because we've got a few raiding parties heading our way."

If what the woman was saying was true (and the panicked, frantic preparations for a defense were any indication), the people here were in grave danger. She beamed at the officer, unleashing Ember Celica. The gauntlets clicked and clacked, hunter-grade shells primed and ready to go.

"Put me on the front lines, Lady. I've been _dying_ to kick some ass." Vadiik stared dumbly at her.

"You're the strangest person I've ever encountered, Miss Long. Not many civilians would so willingly lay down their lives to fight heretics. And I don't know how some fancy expanding bracelets are gonna help."

"Ma'am, I've been training to fight for a long time. I just hope these 'heretic' people make it fun. So where do you need me?" Yang asked. Officer Vadiik didn't answer at first. She was busy ramming some kind of ammunition into a blocky rifle. Motioning Yang to follow her, she left the building.

"Shoot whatever we shoot at and _don't_ get in our way. For now, you're with us." She tossed a pistol to Yang. "This is the best I can do." Thirty or so officers had gathered in the street, waiting for Vadiik.

"Ok, listen up people, we have heretics inbound. Since I am the ranking officer here, I will be taking command. Affirmative?"

"Aye!" They cried.

"This is a dark day for Woadia, that the arch-foe should reach us here. But their attack is one born of Warp-driven lunacy!" She cried. "For when they meet us in battle, they will only find the steel hearts of the men and women of Woadia! With our fists raised in righteous anger, and the Emperor watching over us, we shall break them! Kill them all, and leave none alive! For The Emperor Protects, and today, WE ARE HIS INSTRUMENT!"

"The Emperor Protects!" They echoed.

"Good! Now you six, go set up barricades. You four, go round up the civilians, get them inside! The rest, lock and load! Our orders are to defend the village, and wait for the PDF!"

"Aye!" They cried. Vadiik sighed as they went about their tasks. The miasma of fear that had permeated the station had dissipated, a steely courage replacing it.

"Talk about a change in attitude," Yang said, grinning. The cold look Vadiik gave her chilled her to the bone.

"I don't have the luxury of being afraid. If I falter, every single person in this village will be killed. And even if I don't, they might die anyway. So for your first instruction, I need a pair of eyes out there. Go scout, and come back if you see anything. Dismissed, Ms. Long."

_The police here are awfully militaristic_, Yang thought to herself. _Wherever 'here' is_. She nodded, and dashed out of the village.

When she looked to the sky, she saw spiky black fliers jet underneath the morning clouds, painted a deep, bloody red and covered in strange symbols. Rage and bloodlust surged from them like waves crashing upon the shore. They were enormous, bigger than any airship Yang had ever seen before.

Obeying Vadiik's orders to scout, she pushed fleeing civilians towards the village center, fighting her way through the tumult to get a better view of the ships. Landing crafts by the hundreds jettisoned from them, scattering over the planet's surface. Most of them headed towards the city.

She scrambled to the top of a nearby hill. In the fields before her, a few dozen vessels settled to the earth, prop-wash pushing stalks of wheat aside with an unrelenting wind. From them, at least a hundred warriors clambered out.

And she thought the Ralphie the Servitor had been horrific. Whoever these 'heretic' people were, they were bad news. Scars and tattoos were more common than plain skin. Some of them had eight-pointed brands burned into their chests, while thorny black metal dug into their skin, cutting into their pale flesh. What little armor they wore was painted a dark red, in what looked like blood. Some of them even had leather tunics, crafted from what Yang feared to be human skin. Their weapons were worse. Rusty and choked with rotting flesh, they were brutal, nasty things. Now she understood why Vadiik's initial reaction was one of object terror.

She choked back the bile that rose in her throat. _I'm going to help these people_. She thought. _And I'm going to kick some ass doing it. _Every single one of these monsters looked particularly punch-able. Then, their leader stepped out. Clad in hulking, oversized armor, he stood far above his underlings. Skulls sat on top of long pikes that jutted out from his pack, a weapon the size of Yang carried casually in his right hand.

Time to go.

She sprinted back to the village, desperate to inform Vadiik of the invaders' location. Barricades had been hastily erected, manned by trembling police officers clutching desperately to their weapons. Gesturing and pointing wildly, Vadiik stood behind them.

"They're right over the hill!" Yang cried, dashing to them.

"You're alive."

"Well yeah." Yang stopped. "Wait…you didn't think I'd make it back?" She asked indignantly. No response. "Well a dozen of those fliers landed, and there's about a hundred of those Chaos guys, looking like they stepped out of a seriously hardcore metal band." Vadiik frowned. "And there was one guy, built like a tank. Had these over-sized shoulder pauldrons, and this big blocky gun…"

"Oh no." One of the officers whimpered. "Oh, Emperor save us. A traitor marine. Golden _Throne,_ I thought they were just _legends_."

"They're real, alright." Vadiik growled. "But they die like anything else. Have courage!" She turned to Yang. "Ms. Long, get behind cover. Try and help where you can, but _stay out of our way_."

"Don't worry, Ma'am. I'll send them packing!" She cocked Ember Celica, ready to fight. It didn't matter that she was lost in a strange land. There were people in danger, and her duty as a Huntress demanded that she protect them. The fact that she got to knock some skulls to do so just made it better. "Bring 'em on!"

They obliged her, pouring over the hill. Frothing at the mouth and swinging horrid weapons, they charged the village.

"OPEN FIRE!" Vadiik cried. Her men obeyed, sending red lances of light soaring downrange. The air was rank with a noxious cloud of vapor that spewed from their strange guns. The invaders toppled and fell, gaping black holes opening in their chests. They died screaming, clawing at the wounds with sharpened nails. _They cut through their aura like it wasn't even there..._ Yang mused. She drew the pistol she'd been given.

Aiming it, she took potshots at the incoming troops. Hammering the trigger, small laser bursts erupted from the gun. Even when she missed the center of mass, the lasers were enough to dismember the attackers. _These things are awesome_.

The invaders charged on, returning fire with crude, twisted weapons. Bullets rattled off the hastily-erected cover, burying themselves deep. Some found their target, ripping the lightly-armored policemen to shreds. Blood splashed over Yang, the screams of the wounded and dying battering her ears.

"There's too many!" Someone shouted.

"Keep firing!" Vadiik shouted back. Yang snatched up a fallen rifle, desperate to stem the tide. Each time she pressed the trigger, another attacker fell victim to the crimson lance of light, howling in agony. It wasn't enough.

"Fix bayonets!" Vadiik shouted over the roar of combat. In her hand was a lethal-looking weapon, some sort of sword that had been converted into a chainsaw. It gurgled and spat, humming with murderous intent.

The crowd of invaders was only a few yards away now, demented war cries on their lips. They brandished wicked swords and firearms, all of them covered in grim trophies.

_Time to shine_. Yang thought, grinning. She tossed the rifle over her shoulder.

Bursting forward, her fist met the first attacker, shattering his face and sending him flying backwards. There was no resistance, no push of unseen force that indicated the presence of aura. Then, Yang realized: _They're not using aura! That's why the rifles were so effective!_ Her grin widened. _This will be _too _easy_.

Another man approached her, sword raised. Ember Celica met him in his stomach, tearing him apart. The recoil sent her elbow into the chest of another, tumbling him back. She punched another one, firing a shell as her fist met his chin. His head vaporized in a flash of gore, brains decorating his comrades.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" One cried, charging her. She gave him a low whistle. His lips were pulled back with a mechanical vice, blood pouring over his rotten green teeth. Piercings covered every inch of his face.

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" She ducked under his strike, blasting him in the back with her gauntlets. He spun into his friend, missing most of his torso. Yang killed him too, bringing Ember Celica around into his heart, shattering his ribcage.

They surrounded her now, slavering with bloodlust. One fell to her blows, then another. Grabbing an invader by his arm, she threw him into his comrades, bowling them over. She smashed their heads in.

"Golden Throne, they've got us flanked!" An officer cried. Yang saw the second approaching wave, hurtling over the hills and spilling into the village. A sword twisted around, aimed to slash her stomach open. Her aura shrugged it off, turning her around but keeping the blade from cutting her exposed flesh. The attacker paused, eyes wide.

"Sucks to be you," Yang said, Ember Celica claiming another life. She needed to reload. Throwing her arms forward, the empty shells sprang out of her gauntlets, falling to the blood-soaked earth where they pattered against corpses and hard-packed dirt. A few rounds hit her in the chest, pushing her back.

She reloaded, slamming a brace of shells into her gauntlets. Launching herself at the flanking heretics, she landed amongst them, the golden flames of her aura licking at her hair.

"C'mon who's next?" She cried. A dozen men answered her challenge, growling and snarling. Her arms spun into a whirlwind of death, Ember Celica roaring with glee as it tore into Yang's enemies. Too fast to follow, her punches sent corpses flying, tumbling over the ground in meaty, bloody heaps. Sending her foot into a man's chest, she pushed his sternum into his heart, crushing it from without.

_ Blamblamblamblamblamblamblamblamblam_

Shells tore into her opponents, pellets rending skin and sinew into a pulp. Vaulting over an attacker, she slammed his head into the ground, before picking him up and laying him out with a wheelhouse kick. The rest of the men backed off, fear glowing in their seething eyes.

Using Ember Celica to propel her, she flew backwards, skidding to a halt besides her new-found comrades. They were hard-pressed; heretic forces were swarming them and starting to push them back. Unimpeded, some started to sprint past the clash, howling as they dove into the village.

Vadiik was panting hard, covered in blood. Her pistol hummed, shooting brilliant red beams into the faces of her foes, which melted and ran down their chests. Giving a wordless cry, she surged forward, the sword in her right hand roaring to life. Its teeth screamed as they bit into the flesh of an attacker. Gore spilled out from his shoulder before he split in half from the blow.

Brutal. Uncompromisingly brutal. This is how they waged war in this land, Yang thought. No auras, no semblances, no concussive rounds, no blunt weapons. It was steel and fire against bare skin. But as she breathed, and the cool morning air rushed to fill her depleted lungs, she felt _alive_. She'd been in life-or-death fights before, but this… she'd never fought like this… _ever_.

A man hefted his ax, ready to bring it down on the face of an officer. Yang was quicker. Launching herself forward with Ember Celica, she crushed the man's chest, sending him spiraling backwards before his blow could land.

"To me!" Vadiik cried. An officer turned to heed her cry, but a blast caught the back of his neck, blowing a chunk of muscle and tissue onto the earth. He choked and gurgled as he died, hands desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from his neck.

Yang flattened as two men with assault rifles lit into her, pouring lead from their ratty guns. She dove forward, under their firing arcs. She punched one in the knee, a resounding _CRACK_ her answer. She took the rifle and bludgeoned the other one with it.

"_LONG_!" Vadiik cried, desperately fending off an assault from a towering man who had draped himself in human leather.

"KILL, _KILL_, **_KILL_**!" He bellowed, reaching out to crush her beneath his enormous fists. Yang dashed over to her. Running up the man's back, she drove a fist into his skull, slamming his body down with a burst from Ember Celica.

She offered a hand to the officer, hauling the bruised and battered veteran to her feet. Vadiik took it readily, narrowly avoiding a blow from another enemy. She put two lasers into his kneecaps. He toppled over, screaming in pain.

"Thanks," she said, priming her weapon.

"Any time," Yang replied, stomping her boot into the screaming man's face.

"You're a blessed fighter, Ms. Long. I've never seen such speed."

"My sister's even faster," Yang said, heart swelling with pride. Grabbing a man's tunic, she hurled him into the air and drove him into the ground with her elbow, breaking his spine and pulverizing him. _And that's for taking her away._ She added absentmindedly.

A crack, and Vadiik fell. An attacker had brought a polearm of sorts into her back, knocking her out cold. Yang snarled, punching the offender in the chest and sending him sprawling a few dozen yards away.

"ENOUGH." A voice rang out, deep and raspy. The attackers backed away from the officers, hissing and spitting. Yang whirled around, weapons raised.

The huge man stepped forward, armor slick with blood and grime. He was massive. Taller than even Yatsuhashi, and twice as thick around. His armor was a deep red, trimmed in a dull bronze, his face hidden behind a horned helm.

"SHE IS _MINE_." Each step he took shook the earth beneath his boots, kicking up mud and gore as he strode forward. "KHORNE, BEAR WITNESS TO MY BATTLE." Blood ran down his armor, soaking the joints and running down the thick plates. Too late, Yang saw the source.

On top of his hideous pikes was Hilde's head, her mouth jammed onto the spike with brutal force.

Yang's mind went blank from shock. Reeling, it boiled red, frothing with rage.

"You… _MONSTER_!" Her semblance activated as she smashed her fists together. Burning a glowing crimson, her eyes ignited. Flames spilled off her hair, golden and white-hot. She slammed into the towering man, fists hammering him in lightening succession. He stumbled back from the force of the attack, but was otherwise unharmed.

His helmet tumbled off. He spat, his armor only dented by the barrage of blows.

"ROTTEN, _STINKING_ PSYKERS." He growled. Yang had no idea what he called her, and she didn't care. A fist came down on his jaw, breaking it. He bellowed in pain and battered her with a brutal punch. She flew back, skidding and rolling before sliding to a halt. She tasted blood.

Good.

Enraged and empowered by his attack, she closed the distance again, rushing to meet him with a furious battle cry. The last shell in Ember Celica fired into his exposed face, ripping the flesh away in a blast of pellets. The giant warrior stumbled and fell, caught unawares by the ferocity of the attack. Still, he struggled, obscene war cries spilling from his ruined lips. Arms the size of tree trunks squeezed her, threatening to snap her spine in two. Channeling the entirety of her aura into her fists, Yang brought them down on his skull, one after another, again and again. The aura-enhanced strikes smashed his head in, and his struggling slackened. But her attacks did not. Blood caked the front of her clothes, and the monster's armor whirred and hissed as his body's final attempts to push her off withered away. She stopped her assault, panting.

A deathly silence greeted her, fear dominating the faces of the Chaos warriors.

Yang screamed, flush with an animalistic sense of victory. A thunderous explosion disrupted her moment of triumph, pushing her off her feet. Giant rectangular tanks stormed past, guns blazing death at the invaders. Broken by the sudden assault, they scattered and fled, to no avail. As the adrenaline faded, her hair returned to normal, settling about her shoulders in a silken yellow coat. She screamed again. Tears ran down her cheeks, salt rivers streaming down her bloodied, anguished face.

Yes, Yang Xiao Long knew grief.

For she was lost, trapped in a world of atrocities the likes of which she'd never known.

* * *

**A/N: Wait, what happened to Ruby? How did Yang get here? And how did she beat a Chaos Space Marine?! **

**I can only answer the last one: _she got lucky_. Since she still has her aura, she's a bit OP, but she's not unstoppable. ****As for why I chose Yang, it's simple. She's the least suited to be here. She can speak Low Gothic because, again, language barriers just drag the story down. And an interesting thing happened while I was writing this story... Yang grew to become my favorite character. She's just... so cool.**

**As for the rest of the story... let me level with you - I _really_ like it. I have some pretty awesome stuff planned, and I can't wait for you to see it!**

**By the way, this story serves as a decent introduction to Warhammer 40k for RWBY fans (but is _not_ its primary purpose). So if you're exclusively a RWBY fan, don't worry, you'll be able to enjoy the story too!**

**There might be a few lore discrepancies regarding 40k fluff, and if you see them, let me know ASAP. I'll do my best to rectify them.**

**This will update somewhat weekly, but don't expect regular updates. The story is divided into several major arcs (books), each of which will have their own title (but are contained within this story). ****  
**

**Disclaimer: Like 'The Ones You Love Mean More Than Anything', I will do this exactly once. I don't own either universe. I just think that they'd be awesome together - which is why we're sitting here today.**

**Please, PLEASE let me know what you think. Reviews make my day.**


	2. The Siren Stars

**A/N: Thanks so much for the awesome response! You guys are the best! Anyway, these next few chapters are mostly set-up. I hope you like them, as they're utterly necessary, and basically set up the plot for the entire fic.**

**Oh, and I'm moving review replies to the bottom notes, so you guys can get your sweet, sweet, RWBYhammer 40k cocaine even sooner.**

* * *

**Book 1: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 2: The Siren Stars-**

_"Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant! Purge the unclean!" – Imperial War Cry_

_"MAIM, KILL, BURN! **MAIM, KILL, BURN**!" - Khornate War Cry_

Yang accepted a warm woolen cloak from a recovered Vadiik. Her clothes were soaked with blood, too red and wet to be of any real use. She pulled the garment tight around her. Brushing her sweat-laden locks away from her face, she turned her head to the sky. It was a beautiful day, one that completely ignored the carnage it had seen that morning. After ten hours of furious fighting, the P.D.F. managed to repel the Chaos raid, pushing the maniacs back into their ships and off Woadia.

"How…" She sniffed, "how could they _do_ this." Vadiik did not respond immediately, instead drawing another cigarette from within her greatcoat.

"They are Chaos, Ms. Long." Dried blood caked her coat and arms.

"But… it's…" Yang hunched over, hands and knees meeting the cold, hard earth. She would have vomited, if she had anything left in her stomach. The image of that little girl's head sitting on that monster's trophy rack... "Oh, _Dust_." She coughed. "It's so horrible." She still expected to wake up at any moment. To find herself huddled into a ball, away from this horrible, repugnant place.

"This is what the forces of Chaos do. They reave and rape and kill at the biddings of their Dark Masters." A small, dark laugh. "This is the least I have seen them do."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Yang demanded, tears brimming at the corner of her violet eyes.

"Ms. Long, I've served in the Imperial Guard for forty-five years. I've fought every manner of xenos, every color of Chaos. I've killed Orks, Eldar, and cultists by the score. Even fought Necrons. Not many Guardsmen can claim that." Yang just sighed. She had no idea what the older woman was talking about.

"So you're… used to this? All this pain?" Vadiik sighed, inhaling deeply. Her cigarette turned to ash, crumbling away in the gentle breeze. She stamped it out, grinding it into a broken corpse.

"Rage is one hell of an anesthetic." She muttered.

Yang tried to process all of this. She wasn't in Vale anymore, or even Remnant for that matter. She had been spirited away to another world entirely, thrust into a conflict more brutal and bloody than any she had faced before. _Why? How?_ _What was I doing that landed me here?_ Vadiik interrupted her thoughts.

"The more I think about it, the more I realize that you weren't fucking with me back in the station." The statement took Yang aback.

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"You have no idea where you are, do you?" Yang shook her head. "You've never heard of the Emperor before either." Another negative. "As I thought. I don't think there's another human like you in the Imperium." She paused. "Most would call you a heretic and shoot you where you stand. Others would call you Chaos-tainted, but no one as squeamish as you would ever turn to the Dark Gods. So, Ms. Long, you're ok in my book. And Emperor _Above_, you fight harder than any soldier I've ever seen. You killed more cultists than my entire task force combined."

"I did what I could. It wasn't enough." Vadiik laughed, a cold and bitter sound.

"It's never enough, Ms. Long. Humanity is under attack from every side of the Galaxy. Every corner, every segmentum. We need someone like you. Even little triumphs shine bright when surrounded by darkness."

"Ma'am, I've been a thrill-seeker for most of my life. Each battle, each challenge was a fresh rush…another chance to prove myself. But this… this is _insane_!" A heavy hand rested on her shoulder, coated in dried blood. "I don't know. I don't know anything about where I am or what the Imperium is or what Chaos is, or _anything_."

"You'll learn." Yang looked at her. "And I'll teach you." Yang wrapped the older woman in her arms.

"Thank you. I guess I just want to help… and still, I _still_ feel that itch. I'm still an adventurer at heart, I guess. Even in this fucked-up world." Vadiik seemed stunned by the gesture, but she eventually returned it, settling her head into the mass of flaxen hair.

"The Emperor protects, Ms. Long."

"And just who is this Emperor everyone keeps talking about?" Vadiik sighed.

"We have a long way to go."

* * *

Yang spent the next few days learning about the world… well; 'world' was too small to describe her situation. Galaxy was a more fitting term. She spent hours upon hours listening to Vadiik speak, absorbing everything she could. Of all the things the old veteran had told her, the immeasurable vastness of space still blew her mind any time she tried to decipher it. The sheer unfathomable size made her head spin.

Humanity had long ago reached the stars, filling billions of worlds with trillions of souls. Yang's mouth dropped when she heard that. Remnant barely had a few hundred million lives spread across its surface, holed up in the relative safety of the Four Kingdoms.

The logistics of the Imperium made her head hurt.

Then again, she'd never been a very ardent student when it came to classroom subjects. Nevertheless, she found the history of the galaxy endlessly fascinating. She wasn't a bookworm like Blake, but she still found herself poring over history books and religious writings (which, she soon found, were usually one and the same).

Around them, the village began to rebuild, recovering from the raid. More thought was given to its defense, and large berms were shoveled into place, small wards that would help to repel future attacks. Yang often joined the villagers when she wasn't with Vadiik. The backbreaking labor felt good. She found that for the first time in many months, her mind did not wallow in grief over Ruby, or whisper the need for drink into her ear.

There was too much to be done.

She learned about the Imperium of Man, of its structure and its enemies. Like the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, which had stormed the village just five days ago. Following four terrible, unknowable deities that hailed from the Warp, they sowed violence and horrors wherever they tread.

This Warp was mind-bending to Yang. It was a region of utter, raw emotion, ceaselessly shifting and home to legions of daemons. However, Vadiik explained, this region is utilized by humanity, harnessed in order to traverse the stars and maintain its borders.

But Chaos was not all that threatened mankind. Aliens, which Vadiik insistently referred to as 'xenos', were no friends to humanity. Yang would have scoffed at the impossibility of all the varied flavors of alien if Vadiik had not killed so many of them herself. When she asked Vadiik about the Empire's position on xenos, she learned (at length) the unfathomable depths of mankind's xenophobia and hatred for the impure. _Best not mention the faunus_. Yang realized Vadiik was radically more accepting than others, but even still, she spat and frothed over the evils of the inhuman. And something about... si-kers? Psychers? Wasn't that what the Traitor Marine had called her? Eh, whatever.

And while Chaos was hard to accept, the most difficult (and baffling) lectures were those that focused on the God-Emperor. His worship was universal among the citizens of the Imperium, ever-present and domineering in its authority. This Emperor apparently sat on something called the Golden Throne of Terra, guiding and protecting Humanity in a deathless, catatonic state.

The claims Vadiik made about him were impressive, sure, but Yang surmised that much of the actual history of his rule and rise to power was buried or twisted under religious scripture and ritual. Even so, she didn't bash her head against the text trying to make sense of it. This was how things worked here.

But she knew one thing for sure. _Death and war _thrive_ in this galaxy_. It's probably why she felt the malevolence around her all the time, stirring and pulsing in the air. Maybe it was the week-old battleground, maybe not. She struggled to imagine her friends inhabiting such a cruel place.

Eventually, the books were finished, Vadiik's lectures exhausted. Wanderlust ate at Yang again, as it always did. She felt compelled to explore, to seek a life beyond the rows of wheat that surrounded her. She wanted to resume her life as a Huntress, even though no such concept existed here.

"Well, Ms. Long?"

"Well what, Ma'am?" They were sitting on the woman's porch, watching the sun dip below the rolling hills. The corpse-smell that had pervaded the village had mostly dissipated.

"Where are you going to go? What will you make of life in the Imperium?" She gave a small laugh. "Though I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to off yourself."

Yang pondered her words. And she knew her answer.

She recovered her old clothes. They had been washed, cleansed of the gallons of blood that soaked them. Inside one of the pockets was a slip of paper. Red stains lined the edges, but it was still readable. She put her Remnant clothes away, but kept her gloves. The rest, she packed away in a rucksack.

* * *

Yang stood outside the officer's home, the rucksack slung across her back. She was wearing Vadiik's old attire, a green t-shirt she had cut short to reveal her midriff (with an incision on the neckline to give the girls some breathing room), old fatigues that she rolled up to her thighs, and a plain black belt. Simple, but serviceable. A little drab for her tastes, but showing up downtown with her regular duds would raise too many questions. And if Yang learned one thing from Vadiik's lectures, it was that questions in this galaxy were dangerous things.

Ember Celica remained on her wrists, the reinforced dust-alloy shotgun-gauntlets a reassuring and familiar presence. She could put away her clothes, but she would never hide her weapons.

"Goodbye, Ms. Long." The ever-present cigarette twirled lazily in her fingers.

"Goodbye, Ma'am. Thank you… for everything. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met you."

"Probably would have died, I think." She said, the ghost of a smile on her face. "But don't worry, I have a feeling we'll meet again. Galaxy's a big place." She waved.

"And by the way," Yang called as she walked further and further away from the village, "my last name isn't Long! It's _Xiao_ Long. Two words!"

"That's nice, Ms. Long."

Yang left the village, heading into Aesbrouth. It was a three-day walk, but nothing she hadn't done before. She slept beneath the stars, which were alien to her, yet closer than they'd ever been. Nestling into long stalks of grass, she looked up at the inky blackness, and each dot of light, each nimbus of flickering white flame… the vastness took her breath away. The scale was utterly bewildering. She could spend her entire life traversing the Imperium of Man. The thought brought a wide smile to her face, one that lasted until sleep took her.

When she reached the city at the end of the third day, her mouth hung open, awestruck at how unimaginably vast it was. The smallest of the skyscrapers dwarfed Beacon, and each building was built in the same manner: sheer, soaring, and bleak. Busts, eagles, and statues adorned almost every corner, lending a mystic and ancient feel to the city. Citizens giggled and mocked her as she marveled, but she ignored them. She'd never seen anything like this before.

Eventually, after a few hours of wandering around in the shadows of the colossal buildings, she found her destination.

The Departmento Munitiorum depot. It was a titanic building, one about which ships flitted about like hornets, each carrying massive burdens into the sky. Entering the building, she found herself in a very long line. Men and woman, short and tall, young and old, queued in front of a towering lectern, one that rose almost two stories above them. Servitors abound scratched and scribbled, while some typed furiously on mammoth-sized computers. The man/machine hybrids still unnerved her, but the oddities of the Imperium's gritty and rudimentary technology were becoming less and less noticeable to her.

No one said very much. Yang guessed their minds were still on the attack. The longer she stood in line however, she realized that she was drawing quite a few stares. Yang decided it was probably her clothes. She thought she was dressed like a regular person! She packed away her favorite outfit for _exactly_ this reason!

But the outfit she had hewn from Vadiik's old fatigues was practically underwear compared to the garb of the assembled Woadians. It earned a few hushed whispers from the women, and a few unabashed leers from the men.

A kid, no older than sixteen, attempted to catch furtive glances at her while he waited his turn. He was a tiny little runt, probably just reached Yang's bust. He was dark-skinned and roan-haired like the rest of them, except his locks were cut short, and he was missing bits from his left ear. Yang grinned. Catching his eye on his next attempt, she threw him a quick wink. He blushed furiously, causing her to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

When her turn finally came, she handed the servitor the little stub. It scanned the paper in a second before making a mark in a voluminous ledger.

"RECRUIT REGISTERED FOR DUTY IN ASTRA MILITARUM." A small piece of paper spat itself out from the lectern. They were registration forms and instructions on where to begin her tour of duty.

She beamed. The Imperial Guard was her ticket to the stars. They were waiting, those countless dim lights, and Yang wouldn't deny them any longer.

* * *

**A/N: Who saw that coming? I did. Then again... I wrote it. **

**So what are your thoughts? I hope I portrayed her decision realistically. You might say that she's not the one to sign up for the military, but I think since it's the closest thing to being a Huntress, she'd jump at the chance to have her old life back. Yang _is_ an adventurer after all. **

**Also, for fun: what are your guys' predictions? I have the story's major beats down, but I wanna know where you think the story is headed. Shout out to TheSpawn117! :D**

**Another stupid, random note - I'm having _so much fun_ writing this. Maybe it's cause it's Yang, or maybe because the WH40k is my true calling. (Black Library, _pls hire me_.)**

**Review Replies:**

**keeper of all lore: I'm sorry, but it's unlikely you'll find any direct data on the subject, as the pool of POV characters in this story is very small.**

**TheSolInvictus: I realized how right you were after reading through your review a few times. I changed the events a little, hopefully to something slightly more believable. And yes, I know how tough Khornate Berzerkers are. It didn't come across too well, but the CSM depicted here wasn't a Berzerker, just a regular (albeit Khornate) CSM. And I figured no matter how many enhancements you get, you get your brains smashed in, you die. Now if _that_ isn't canonical, fuck it, that's how it's going to be! haha**

**NIX'S WARDEN: Glad you like it! I considered making Ruby the main character, but figured she would angst a little too much about the whole deal, which isn't really the direction I want the story to go. She'd make a kickass Sister of Battle though! (If she could get past the whole 'murder everything slightly less than human on sight' part.)**

**thefluffyone93: Funnily enough, I don't know too much about RWBY lore either. In fact, no one does! I wrote some world-building fluff into my two crossover fics, but it isn't much more than rough estimates as to what the world of Remnant is like. Hopefully it won't grate if conflicting information is presented. And if Trazyn makes an appearance, it won't be from his point of view. As stated in a previous reply, the pool of POV characters is very small.**

**Heir of the Void: You'll not be left wanting for fun!**

**rustbucket1: Thank you so much! I won't be writing any story like that (at least in the foreseeable future), as one of the other three RWBYhammer 40k fics is about one of the lost primarchs crashing on Remnant. It's called "In the Grimm Darkness" Check it out, I think you'll like it!**

**reality deviant: Just hope I can hold it!**

**iyaoyas: Thanks again for your awesome reviews! I was more or less forced to start kind of slow, since I had to set up a bunch of stuff (as much as I wanted to drop her into the middle of a battle). And you're right about the CSM, Yang got lucky because she 1. has aura, and 2. knocked his helmet off.**

**TheSpawn117: I'm evil, I know! And interesting predictions! Sadly, Yang isn't really the Inquisitorial type... she'd probably subject the suspects to hours of hours of terrible puns until they confessed everything they knew! (The Grey Knights would be _utterly_ badass though!)**

**Whew! Thanks for all the support guys! If things stay at this pace, I'll have no problem keeping this weekly! :D**


	3. A Sleeping Beast Awakens

**A/N: Holy God-Emperor and the Thousand Saints of Terra! You guys are awesome! I'm so honored by the support you guys have been showing this story. I know I have a niche audience, but the constant reviews and attention has been extremely flattering. I'm thrilled you like the story, and all your kind words are definitely helping to move it along.**

**Ok, enough gushing. Time for some more RWBYhammer!**

* * *

**Book 1: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 3: A Sleeping Beast Awakens-**

_"It's amazing how many things are put into perspective once you realize you've been using your squads' corpses as cover." – Trooper Neesh, of the Tallarn Desert Rangers_

Yang learned that Humanity was a space-faring race from Vadiik, but hearing such a claim and experiencing it was a different matter entirely. After a week of living in a cramped and stuffy barracks, officers rounded up the Imperial Guard recruits and marched them out of Aesbrouth.

It was no easy task. Ten thousand eager new soldiers left the city that day, ready to forever leave their bucolic homeworld and face the enemies of the Imperium. They were a constant stream of humanity, flanked by cheering citizenry. Lovers shared their last goodbyes, families bid farewell, and tears were shed unending.

When they reached the edge of a great plain, screaming officers lined them up, row upon endless row. Suddenly, the sky buckled, clouds parting in deference to the almighty beast that broke them. Yang saw her future home, the Lunar-Class Cruiser _Ascendant Dawn_. It was breathtaking. Utterly titanic, it dwarfed the Chaos vessels by leaps and bounds. Spires and weapons covered it like quills on an Ursa. It hovered in the sky, imposing and grand.

Most of Yang's fellow recruits wore the same expression as she did, slack-jawed and awed by the majesty of the warship before them. Landing craft spilled from it like ants from a colony, just as black and twice as numerous. They bellowed and roared as they descended, buffeting the plains with mighty gales of prop-wash.

Yang shielded her face, trying to keep dust out of her eyes. Her long golden hair whipped and snapped under the wind's assault, straight into the face of her neighbor.

"AUGH! Pbblltth!" The woman spat, trying to remove the mess of yellow locks from her mouth.

"Hey," Yang snapped, "watch the hair!" The woman scowled. Unlike many Woadians, her hair bore a reddish hue, and was tightly wound around her neck in a large, singular braid. She appeared to be in her twenties, just about Yang's age.

"That's my line, blondie." Yang frowned, recalling the last miscreant to use that particular nickname. She sighed.

"I'm… sorry." She stuck her hand out, still wreathed in Ember Celica. "The name's Yang Xiao Long." Her handshake was not accepted.

"Emperor bless you."

"No… that's my name."

"Really? Did your parents hate you or something?" Yang growled, grabbing the woman's collar in one hand. Parents were a touchy subject.

"I am _trying_." She took a deep breath. "To be _friendly_." A sudden crack of pain forced Yang to let go. She tumbled to the pavement below, and found herself staring down the barrel of an over-sized pistol.

"**Behave** Trooper, or you'll be made an example of!" The man behind it bellowed. He bore a huge peaked cap, and was garbed in an officer's finery. So sudden was the man's assault, Yang was too stunned to do anything other than nod. The man struck her again with a baton, and it deflected harmlessly against her aura. She pretended to be hurt, hoping she wouldn't have to start a scene by tearing the guy limb from limb. They locked eyes, and Yang bit back a snarl. He moved on, sneering.

Yang stood, cracking her neck.

"Golden Throne of Terra, what an _asshole_." The woman muttered. She looked over at her.

"My thoughts exactly. Sorry for the whole… grabbing you thing." Yang tried, shrugging her shoulders.

"It's my fault for being snarky. Name's Ros, by the way." They shook hands. The landing craft descended onto the pavement, gigantic pistons hissing and whirring as landing gear braced the vehicle against the ground. A ramp slid out from underneath a gigantic door, beckoning the recruits aboard.

A bugle sounded, the signal to begin boarding.

They obeyed in their thousands. Yang still marveled at it all. She'd seen the armies of both Vale and Atlas, but not even the armies of the two largest Kingdoms came close to the Imperium in terms of scale.

Cramming them into giant holds, they packed the new soldiers tight into the bulkheads of the landing craft. Yang and Ros were squeezed against the wall, Ros once again finding herself suffering a mouthful of Yang's hair.

"Why do you keep it like this? It's-_pbbtlh_. It's too much!"

"I like it." Yang said simply.

"Weird." They were silent for a time before Ros turned to her. "So, how did they get you?"

"Who did what now?"

"You know." Ros said, looking at Yang with incredulity. "Them." She gestured at one of the sergeants, who was busy screaming at the slower recruits. "How'd they get you?"

"I… volunteered."

"You're joking." Yang smiled.

"Nope. What about you?" Anger stiffened Ros, and her hands bore white knuckles as they tightened around her legs.

"A bunch of Ministorum officers stormed into my village a week after the attack...they refused to leave without at least two hundred 'volunteers'. Only a couple dozen signed up, and for the rest… we drew lots."

"And you got picked." Ros nodded, her fists clenching.

"Emperor be praised, it isn't _fair_." She whispered, the words barely escaping her grinding teeth. "I had my whole life planned out… had a good farm, a good husband… then they came and took it all away." Yang was taken aback by this.

"Wait, you're married?!" Ros stilled, her face furrowing and lips quivering. Finally, she spoke.

"Yes… but he couldn't serve with me…he had his right arm mangled in a thresher when he was younger. We couldn't afford to fix it, so I begged and pleaded… 'Give him a new arm, let him come with, I'll go if you let him come too.'" Tears welled in her eyes, her gaze focused solely on the ground between her boots. Yang was suddenly at a loss for words, an unusual experience. "He was praying too, begging to come with, but it didn't mean anything to them. They marched me off, and left him behind. Nearly all of us," she said, gesturing at their countless companions, "they're just like me. Conscripts."

"Wow… I'm…" Yang took a deep breath, putting an arm around the red-head. "I'm really sorry." Ros laughed, a bitter, broken sound. But she seemed to welcome the gesture, leaning back into the hard metal seat.

"Don't be. You're the dumbass who signed up to die, when the rest of us had to be forced. Emperor be praised, you probably saved someone _else_ from being torn away from their family." Yang hadn't thought of it like that. She forced a smile on her face.

"Ros, you have my word. We'll make it through this. We're gonna kick ass all across the galaxy, and when we're done, I'll plant your ass back on Woadia, right in front of your waiting hubby." Ros gave her a look of shock and disbelief that morphed into a small smile, draining the melancholy away.

"That's some of the sappiest shit I've heard in a long time." Yang laughed, and her new friend's smile grew even wider. "But damn, does it feel good to hear."

* * *

**Two Hours later...**

Yang watched Woadia shrink before her, a spinning globe of green, yellows and blues. So sudden. In a matter of hours, the _Ascendant Dawn_ had escaped planetary gravity, headed for the depths of space. Yang pressed her fingers to the window that stood before her, in total awe. Leaving Remnant to reach for the stars was something that only lived in the vague dreams of its most gifted residents. And here, in this galaxy, it was treated as second nature, yet another day in the Imperium.

"Crazy isn't it?" Ros said, hands on her hips. "We lived our whole lives there. And we'll probably never see it again." She gave a little wave. "Farewell, my everything. Emperor be with you." Her hands flew across her chest, a ritualized gesture Yang recognized as the Sign of the Aquila.

"Hey now, I made you a promise! We'll be back here eventually. I can feel it."

"I'm holding you to that." Ros replied, trying to grin. "Come on Yang, let's find our gear." She nodded, following the younger woman throughout the vast starship. The interior was marvelous. Its hallways were cramped and dank, but its meeting places were soaring and bright. An old, ancient architecture permeated everything here.

In a weird sense, the gothic spires and flying buttresses reminded Yang of Vale.

They found their assigned armory after a few hours of exploring the ship. Hundreds of new Guardsmen waited in line to receive their new gear. Ros and Yang joined them, two women adrift a sea of future soldiery.

"_Ros_? _There_ you are!" A voice called out.

"Oh, Emperor Protect me." Ros groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Golden _Throne_! I thought I lost you when we got marched out!" Yang looked over to the speaker. He was a slim man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Neptune, if his hair had been cut short and dyed a milky white. A long white scar snaked over his nose, and passed through his lips. He looked to be Ros' age.

"You know him?" Yang asked.

"Every girl from the village of Bardigaal knows Caolin Roriksson. And Caolin Roriksson knows the fists of every girl in Bardigaal." She snorted.

"Not just fists, Ros!" Caolin cried from his spot in the line across from them, beaming like an idiot. Yang put a hand on her hips and slouched back, sizing him up and down. "And who's your friend? Ain't seen someone like her before."

"I have lots of names. But you can call me Yang." She gave him a wink, which he received with a sly grin.

"Now Ros, why can't you be all friendly like Ya…. Yang over here?" Ros scoffed, giving both Caolin and Yang a dirty look.

"Don't encourage him. He's an incorrigible flirt."

"He seems nice."

"Do the words 'incorrigible flirt' mean nothing to you?"

"Nah, I'm just playing with him. I'll torture him for a few months before turning him down. He's cute, but he's not really my type." _The whitish hair hits a little too close to home… _she thought, remembering her good friend Weiss that she'd left on Remnant. "Sometimes fists aren't the best way of dealing with men. Not often. But sometimes." Yang beamed. Ros managed a grin.

"I can't say I've met many people like you." Yang laughed. Ros was like a spunkier, talkative version of Blake. Just as morose, but just as intelligent and insightful.

"Stick around, then."

They received their gear, the standard issue green Imperial Flak Armor with three beige tunics and several sets of fatigues. Assignment papers were included too, declaring they were now part of the 111th Woadian Rangers, the one-hundred and eleventh regiment raised from the agri-world of Woadia.

Yang skimmed through the documents. 'Blah blah blah Emperor, blah blah blah Woadia, blah blah Imperial Guard, blah blah training blah. Oh, useful information. Report to barracks 0914. Guardsmen is now assigned to Gamma Platoon, Squad F, under the command of Sergeant Jorvis. Thankfully, Ros was assigned to the same unit. She wouldn't have to part with her newest friend so soon.

"Hey guys!" Caolin said, hustling over to them. "What squad you in?"

"We're both in Gamma Platoon, Squad F." Caolin grinned a wide, toothy grin.

"Oh, Emperor save me from the spawn of Rorik." Ros muttered, realizing.

"Looks like we're going to be stuck together for quite a while."

"I'm pushing you in front of the first xenos I see."

"Please, please! I got lucky that _this,"_ he said, tracing the scar that ran along his face, "happened to be sexy. No need to risk more!" Yang laughed. It was comforting to see a bit of normality in this insane galaxy. Caolin turned to her, a wolfish smile on his lips. "You have a resplendent laugh, Miss."

"Spare the gentlemanly act, ass-hat. You don't even know what 'resplendent' means." Ros spat.

"Not until I heard her laugh!" Yang laughed even harder.

"Wow. That was," She took a deep breath, wiping a tear from her eye, "that was actually pretty good!" Caolin bowed dramatically.

"Idiots. Come on, let's go." Ros grabbed them by their collars, dragging them to their barracks.

"Ack! C'mon Ros, I'm sorry for hitting on your friend! She didn't mind it but… I mean… Urk!" He tried, struggling to free himself. Yang just went along for the ride.

New friends were always nice.

* * *

The barracks were large, but only in the sense that they stretched deep into the bowels of the ship. For Yang towered over the Woadians, and her hair was only a foot away from scraping the metal ceiling. Bunks by the dozen lined the walls, tightly packed and utterly spartan. There were no windows, no respite from the bleak metallic walls. The only illumination came from small lamps that hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in a dim light.

Recruits shuffled and ambled about aimlessly. Some tried making acquaintances and some just lay still on their bunks, pulling the covers tight.

An eerie, metallic voice resounded throughout the room, and presumably the entire ship.

"Attention, all hands. _Ascendant Dawn_ is now entering Warp Space. Attention all hands. _Ascendant Dawn_ is now entering Warp Space." The message repeated a few times before it died down. It was silent for a moment. Then everything went red.

Yang felt pain pulse in her head, a sharp ebony blade that dug at the crevasses of her mind. She felt angry all of a sudden, viciously angry. Murder. Her fingers wound themselves into her hair, twisting, pulling, _yanking_. Had to kill, had to maim! Break their bones, smash their skulls, that was the best way to do it! Tear them apart, just like Mother wanted. Oh, Mother dearest! Her _eyes_! A burning, bloody _RED_, RED LIKE **_ROSES_**-

"Yang?" Ros asked. _Huh?_

"Oh. Hn. Hey… uh… Ros."

"You ok?" The insane and frightening sensation passed, but the pain lingered. She was trembling and sweating, her fingernails biting deep into her palms.

"Uh... yeah... All good. Thanks." _What… what _was_ that_? She beat a hasty retreat, setting her things down on her bunk. _Just… act normal_. A small metal locker stood next to her new bed. She packed her rucksack inside, the small bag of canvas that held everything from Remnant, everything she held dear. Home.

_Ruby_. It had been awhile since her mind lingered on Ruby. The thought made her guilty, but remembering her smiling face and silver eyes helped the tremors subside. Slowly, surely, her breathing returned to normal. The anger passed, frightening though it was.

She sat down on her bunk, taking another look at the photograph of Team RWBY. It never failed to rend a hole in her heart, but at least it was something familiar. A reminder of a peaceful time, a time far away from the Imperium and terrifying visions of slaughter.

"That's a look I've seen before." She jumped, turning to face the new voice. A bearded man smiled at her, crinkled lines spilling from his eyes. A thin rope necklace hung about his neck, a few beads flanking the ever-present Aquila. An older man.

"What look is that?"

"Who have you lost?" The question hit a little close to home.

"My-" She paused, trying not to let the misery that haunted her to resurface. _Deep breaths._ _Don't cry_. "She was my sister."

"Grief knows us all in this time of war." He said simply, a small smile hidden behind the scruff of his beard. "My name is Rhain. Rhain Fyodyrsson." He extended a hand. Yang took it.

"Thanks Mr. Fyodyrsson." He held his hand up.

"Just Rhain will do. We are fellow Guardsmen, after all." Yang nodded. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Rhain clambered into his bunk, and opened a thin black book that had been included within their assigned equipment. '_The Imperial Guardsmen's Uplifting Primer_'.

Ros plopped down next to her, sighing with exhaustion.

"Pretty gloomy, huh?" Yang asked with a fake smile, gesturing around to their new companions. Ros nodded, yawning.

"We've just left behind everything we've ever known. I don't blame them." Yang contemplated this as the _Ascendant Dawn_ tore through the Warp. _In that sense… they're kind of like me._

* * *

**Elsewhere, in the Segmentum Obscurus...**

The grim and foul stench of decay was everywhere. It did not linger in the air or waft about with the wind. It crouched in the city like a foul beast, a heavy miasma that was choking in its fullness. Decius gagged and threw up, adding vomit to the blood and unknowable bile that caked his flak armor. No matter where he went, he couldn't escape the smell. His lasgun rested at his side, its battery half depleted and barrel burnt black from constant use. He checked it for the sixth time this hour, trying to distract himself from the mess he had made.

"Are you ok, Sarge?" It was Piona, the squad's flamer expert. Her face was stained black with soot and ash, but around her eyes a pair of orange goggles had kept her skin pale and ghostly.

"I'm fine, Piona." He managed, wiping his mouth. She looked worried, but perhaps that was just exhaustion, it was hard to tell anymore.

"What the fuck _are_ those things?" Trooper Tullius Pilavo. He was keeping watch by the window, base terror stretching his eyes wide. His knee bounced and rattled like a jackhammer, pumping up and down on the hardwood floor. A vox-caster was by his side, silent but for the hiss of static.

"If I knew," Decius said, "I would have told you the first twenty times." He sighed, surveying the remnants of his squad. There were only four of them left, four of fifteen. One by one, they'd fallen to those tainted… _things_. A rusted and well-worn gas lamp was the only source of illumination, casting a warm glow of the bruised and bloody guardsmen. With them was the only civilian they managed to extract, a Ministorum Preacher named Adavo. The sergeant bit back a snarl.

_ Useless, cowardly man_. Servant of the Emperor or not, he was nothing but a burden. He sat next to the lamp, froth-tinged prayers tumbling out of his wrinkled lips. He was worse off than Tullius, and his muttered ramblings set his men on edge, which was the last thing he needed. Trooper Gnaeus Dondara was also keeping watch, his tattered tunic rising and falling with each labored breath.

Outside, roiling clouds of thick smoke obscured the night sky. The city of Hastatus was besieged from within, plagued by these damned creatures, and the P.D.F stationed on the planet had broken apart under the sheer weight of them. They were scattered and alone, left to fend for themselves in the nightmare that their lives had become.

"Contact, we got contact!" Decius snatched up his lasgun, carefully edging his way towards a window.

"How many are out there, Gnaeus?"

"Emperor protect me." Was the only reply he could manage, and Decius saw why. There were hundreds of those shambling and decrepit creatures. They looked human if one spotted them at a distance, but after killing them in their hundreds, Decius would never make such a mistake. Their flesh was rank with necrosis, sloughing and covered in fetid bulbs of green rot. A low, horrid moan escaped them as they spotted the squad, which grew to an animal snarling as they picked up their pace. There were so many, packing the ruined streets with ruined bodies.

"Grab Adavo, we're leaving. Head for Rally Point Kappa. Piona… incinerate them." A weary smile split her face, revealing a row of brilliant white teeth. She hefted her flamer, the blue pilot light sparking to life. "I'll be out in a second to help. Don't use any more promethium than you have to."

"Of course, sir." She said, pulling her goggles down from her sweat-stained hair.

"Come on Father," Tullius said, pulling at Adavo's befouled robes, "we need to get going."

"The Time of Ending is upon us!" He cried. "The Curse of Unbelief will swallow us whole!"

"For the Emperor's sake, shut him _up_." Decius growled. The creatures roared as they saw Piona, stumbling towards her in their blind blood-lust. She responded, a quiet, harsh whisper that Decius could only just make out.

"Find salvation in purgation." The flamer bellowed, rending the closest creature into ash, and igniting his companions. The burst of flame lit up the street, and those that did not die howled as their flesh cooked and broiled. "Find salvation in your cleansing, and rejoice by the side of the Emperor."

Decius whipped around. Tullius was shouldering his vox-caster, Adavo in tow.

"Gnaeus?" The large man nodded.

"Let's go sir." Another burst of light illuminated the street, Piona's flamer purging Hastatus of its tainted inhabitants. Decius jogged out to join her, lasgun at the ready. He fired into the encroaching crowd, crimson lances of las-fire blasting the putrid beings apart. There were so many. And they were getting closer now, only a few dozen yards away.

"Piona, we're moving!" She didn't hear him. Her finger hovered over the trigger to her flamer, itching to let loose another lick of holy fire. "Piona!" She jerked, accidentally throwing a gobbet of flame into the face of a monster. It fell, its howling cut short by a fiery death.

"S-sorry sir." Decius didn't respond, instead, pulling at her shoulder pauldron. "Follow Gnaeus, I'll cull them a bit further." She nodded, dashing over to her fleeing comrades.

Hammering the trigger of his lasgun, he cut down the ones that escaped Piona's flames. He stood his ground, trying to shut out the reek of burning flesh. "What I would do for some grenades…" He muttered, felling another one of the cursed things.

He turned and bolted after killing the eleventh, following his squad into the depths of the city. They had not made it very far. They were beleaguered and spent after almost thirty hours of constant fighting. Decius could not blame them. His body ached.

"Come on, double time." He said, doing his best to keep them moving. The plague-ridden things hurried after them.

An eerie air pervaded the entire city, and it felt like each statue was paring him apart with judgmental leers. The alleys they crept through were still and dead, devoid of any signs of life. Corpses choked the gutters, and untold gallons of blood pooled in the street, stagnant and rancid.

It was Tullius' turn to vomit. As he heaved and shook, little more than water spilled forth from his stomach. They hadn't eaten in almost two days.

"Sir, we can't go much faster." Gnaeus said, his sweat-stained brow furrowed in anguish. "Not with Adavo in tow." The shuffle of monster-feet swelled behind them, hungering after the squad with frightful insanity.

"Soon, darkness will descend upon the Imperium!" The preacher bellowed, completely insensate and ignorant of his surroundings. "Repent!" He screamed, a crooked finger shoved roughly into Decius' face. "REPENT! For you have abandoned the light of-" Decius shot him with his laspistol, firing a stab of red light into his chest at point-blank. The corpse sank to its knees. A hole in its holy robes billowed smoke, carrying the scent of burnt flesh.

"Oh, Emperor!" Piona cursed, shrinking back from the corpse. "What the fuck, Sarge?"

"Gnaeus was right. He was useless." A singular creature ran toward them, hearing the commotion. Tullius let loose a single shot from his laspistol, which blew one of its legs apart. It floundered, falling face-first into a pool of viscera. Ignoring its wound, it continued crawling towards them. _Disgusting, foul, warp-cursed animals!_

"You-you can't just…" Piona stumbled for words, panic settling in her countenance. "He was-"

"Slowing. Us. Down." Decius growled, pushing his squad into a jog. "Not to mention howling like a mad dog." Gnaeus didn't say anything, and Tullius hurriedly performed the Sign of the Aquila. Unburdened by Adova, the squad managed to put good distance between the horde that had been following them. Eventually, their mad moaning faded away, lost in the twisting turns of endless concrete.

The stopped for a breath, sucking in the befouled air with desperate lungs. Piona still looked irritated and jumpy. Her fingers danced around the handle of her flamer.

"Sarge, why did you kill him? He was a Preacher! You-"

"Piona. I'm not going to let these fucking animals take another one of my men." Her face fell, the burning city reflected on her goggles. "If he'd stuck around, he'd be the death of us, and I refuse to accept that."

"I… yes. Understood, sir." Despite her initial horror, a faint ember of gratitude burned in her crimson eyes.

"Now let's go, double time!"

They hurried through the city, stopping for breath every few klicks and avoiding the larger groups of monsters. They couldn't avoid all of them, and every so often, they were forced to spend a little more of their remaining ammunition. The rally point wasn't much farther away when Tullius interrupted their march.

"Sir! I got something on vox!"

"What is it?" Comms had been dead for the last eight hours after the command bunker had fallen.

"It's a general broadcast from the Cathedral of Saint Celestine. A few platoons managed to hold up there."

"What's it saying?" Gnaeus asked.

"It's…" He paused, clenching the receiver close to his ear. His eyes went wide, and his breath caught in his throat.

"What is it, trooper?" Decius hissed.

"They've… they've received a warp-cast from Augustus Prime. The monsters… they're not just here. _The entire system is falling_." Piona's hand went to her mouth.

"Oh, _Emperor_." Decius' vision swam, and he steadied himself on one of Piona's promethium tanks.

"Anything else, Tullius?"

"Orders are to flee the city, meet up at Rally Point Theta. Wait for reinforcements." _Reinforcements. Ha! What a joke. If we're lucky, command will rain Exterminatus upon us._ The thought came to Decius unbidden, but he wouldn't let it show. He couldn't let his men despair just yet.

"Adavo was wrong." He said. His squad looked at him. "We are not doomed. The Imperium will stand for another ten thousand years, and I'll be damned if I don't see to that myself. Let's go, Guardsmen." They nodded, morale bolstered by his words. Even Tullius managed a small smile.

"And remember, The Emperor protects."

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, there's ominous shit goin' on here. At least, I think so. So yeah, there's going to be quite a few OCs. I hope that doesn't bother you. And don't worry, the focus is still firmly on Yang. Decius and his men were a one-tine thing.**

**By the way, I originally just had Yang boarding the ship at the end of the chapter, then fast-forwarding to a battle, and then introducing the squad there... but it really, _really_ grated. And it sucked. So I was forced to include a few more chapters of set-up and preparation before I drop them into the shit, but I'm extremely pleased with the results, and I hope you will be too.**

****Also, I'm sorry, but Yang won't be fighting any Plague Zombies. The second part of this chapter was intended as a picture of other important goings-on in the Imperium, not to foreshadow Yang's next battle. Sorry for misleading you!****

**Anyway, what are your thoughts? I'd love to hear them!**

**Review Replies: In general... I asked for predictions, and you delivered! You guys are the best! I was really intrigued by what I saw, but I won't be revealing anything yet... only time will tell if your predictions hold true... :D**

**Firem78910: A very good question! **

**thefluffyone93: Standards of dress vary greatly across the Imperium, so I don't think she'll get into too much trouble. But if she breaks out the whips and black leather, _then_ I'll be worried! haha **

**TheSolInvictus: Vadiik is an interesting case... so I edited the conversation slightly. I'd say she survived the Necrons rather than outright killing them. And yes, she _actually_ fought Dark Eldar, but I figured a footslogger like her wouldn't be able to distinguish between the two races. So yeah, she's been around the block! As to the strength of Yang's aura, I'd say she could probably take a few bolter shells. BUT ONLY A FEW. I mean, hell, she got thrown around like a fucking toy by a Paladin in Episode 4 of Season 2, and she was fine. By the way, thanks so much for your in-depth reviews!**

**iyaoyas: I had a bit of a giggle at your 'flak armor' comment... it's so true! And yes, Yang's reluctance to hide Ember Celica might get her into trouble, but it remains to be seen... ;) Training is coming up soon, and I think I've captured it well, but you can be the judge of that! As to the CSM, I agree that it's possible on the table (and would cause no undue amount of nerd rage from the CSM player!), I felt including a bit about how Yang uses her aura fits really well there, and is slightly more plausible. A win/win IMO. Thanks again for your constant reviews! They're incredibly helpful and always appreciated!**

**RED Roman Pyro: Part of...?**

**NIX'S WARDEN: A very insightful comment! All I'll say at this point is that your concerns will be addressed in due time...**

**undead3: Rest assured, I am trying to stay very close to canon. Yang threw a bit of a spanner into the works, and I'm trying to keep her from becoming a Mary Sue. As to what Aura is like in the 40k universe, you'll have to wait and see. All I can promise you now that it has indeed changed... ;) And the Woadian regiments are referred to as Rangers, but they're pretty much standard Guardsmen. However, the idea of Yang being stuck on some artillery battery tearing her hair out from boredom is amusing though!**

**Bear of Cali: Ooh, interesting! :D**

**TheSpawn117: Glad you like it so far! For some reason, I can picture Yang riding into battle on the back an annoyed Space Marine... it's hilarious. But it would also be incredibly badass!**

**Darth Cruel: Thank you so much!**

**PFCDontKnow: You called it! For now, Yang will let it slide... but methinks we haven't seen the last of the 111th's Commissar...**

**L4 Of the WEST: I hope you're having fun! I sure am!**

**DanAbnettfan1997: Thanks! I hope I can keep delivering!**

**\- Whoo! That was a lot! But I love it! Thanks so much, and KEEP 'EM COMING! :D**


	4. Forward March

**A/N: And we're back! The 'training episode', if you can call it that. Thanks so much for sticking around! I'm seriously honored by all the support! You guys are the best!**

**Now let's get straight to it! FORWARD, YOU DOGS! :D**

* * *

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 4: Forward March-**

_"We are not the Emperor's finest. We are nowhere __**near**__ his finest. But we will die in our millions, each with his name on our dying breaths. So we will serve." - Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik, on the Imperial Guard_

Yang and her new friends learned with a little more reading that they were on route to their first combat zone, a planet named Elodia IX, an Imperial world that acted as a travel hub. It would take approximately two months to arrive, and the interim time would be used to train the 111th in the ways of the Imperial Guard.

It was a rough adjustment for many recruits.

The training hall housed a couple thousand troops, all in their fatigues. It was enormous, and Yang was baffled that such an open space was contained within a starship. They were lined up, ramrod straight, facing forward. An imposing man stalked up and down the hall, his footfalls thunderous and purposeful. He was Sergeant Jorvis, their platoon leader and drill instructor for the next few months.

"The first and last words out of your filthy mouths will be sir, do you understand?!" He screamed. He was a large man, well into the latter half of his life. Despite this, he was ridiculously muscular, his body covered in scars accrued over a lifetime of service. A robotic eye glared at them from underneath an officer's cap, red and full of hate.

"SIR, YES SIR!" They cried in unison, their voices echoing again and again in the vast, high-ceilinged hall.

"What in the actual _fuck_ was that? Are you mocking me? LOUDER, YOU PUKES!" His green overcoat quivered, shaking with fury.

"**SIR YES SIR**!"

"Emperor protect me, you're all _pathetic_! Are you fucks the best Woadia has to offer? Golden Throne of Terra, you wouldn't last a _DAY_ in the Guard! Holy groxshit, I wouldn't trust you shit-stains to clean out my canteen!" He prowled over them, inspecting each of them with his horrible, horrible eye.

When he came to Yang, he stopped.

"WHY IN THE NAME OF HOLY TERRA IS YOUR HEAD NOT SHAVED, TROOPER?" He roared, towering over her.

"_Sir_, no one touches my hair and lives, _Sir_!" She cried. They had tried to take a razor to her, but she broke one of the barber's arms and busted a servitor before they realized it wasn't worth the trouble. She had compromised instead, tying her voluminous hair into a tight bun.

"Oh, so you think you're some kinda hard-ass, do ya?"

"Sir, I have trained my entire life to fight and kill sir!"

"WELL FUCK ME SILLY, AREN'T YOU SPECIAL!" He drove a fist into Yang's stomach before she could activate her aura, sending her sprawling across the floor. Pain rippled through her, causing her to double over and clutch herself.

"NO ONE GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO LIE DOWN, RECRUIT! Get up and give me fifty push-ups!" She complied, still groaning in pain. As she did her assigned workout, she reflected upon the contrast between Huntsmen training and Guardsmen training.

To say they had differences was an understatement of the highest order.

"Let me get this straight for you scum-sucking ingrates! Most, if not all of you will die in service to the Imperium. Only those blessed in the glory of the Emperor can survive the rigors of service. A blessing," he screamed, "YOU SORELY LACK!"

"Do you have the courage to face the xeno, the mutant, the heretic? Well, you fucking _better_, because if you don't, the punishment is death! The punishment for sloth is death! The punishment for ineptitude is death! The punishment for cowardice is death! The punishment for desertion is _death_! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"SIR YES SIR!"

"BULLSHIT, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"**SIR YES SIR**!"

"Now go! Run! Five klicks around the track, go, go, go!" Yang sprang up after finishing her push-ups, eager to prove herself.

* * *

The two months passed by in a crawl. Many of the conscripts flagged and wavered, exhausted by the brutal training regime. But not Yang. Yang pushed herself, easily surpassing her squad mates. She outpaced and outfought anyone who challenged her. She'd been playing this game for most of her life, and it showed. Ros and Caolin were astounded, as was Rhain. Even Sergeant Jorvis begrudgingly acknowledged her skill. No one expected such sheer power from her slender form.

Her only serious competition came in the form of Woadia's militia veterans, recruited from the ranks of the planet's standing armies. They were huge, hulking men, who were well versed in combat. Still, they fell like flies on the mat. The only one that gave her a moment's pause was a mute man named Mael. They had gone for six rounds before Yang bested him... and then, only by battering him unconscious.

She also threw herself into learning a new weapon: the ubiquitous lasgun. Yang proved to be quite adept with them, but couldn't hold a candle to Caolin. He showed an uncanny skill with the weapon, and Jorvis awarded him the squad's long-las, its sniper variant.

The beam weapons were superior to most of the firearms she knew from her time in Beacon, but they weren't more than mere flashlights compared to the boltguns they learned about. They were probably the most awesome thing Yang had ever seen. And that wasn't even mentioning meltas and massively effective but dangerous plasma guns. She wished she could see some in action, as the instructional (propaganda) vids they watched on the topics were incredibly entertaining.

If Ruby were here, she'd be geeking out over all the various kinds of weaponry offered in the 41st Millennium. The thought made her sad, but in the midst of training and frequent exhaustion, she rarely had time for grief anymore.

Sergeant Jorvis also stressed the importance of skill in melee combat. As Yang learned in her clash with Chaos cultists, the enemies of the Imperium often like to fight up close, necessitating the use of gruesome but effective weapons like the chainsword. She was already extremely proficient in hand-to-hand combat, but Yang couldn't deny swinging around a chainsaw that doubled as a sword wasn't totally awesome.

The only real issue with her armaments lay in Ember Celica. Technology was a touchy subject with the Imperials, and she hadn't seen anything similar to her gauntlets in the guns they trained with. Sure, there were a few shotguns with similar gauges, but the concept of expanding, multi-functional weaponry seemed foreign to them. Yang decided to put away her weapon for now. When it came time for deployment, she could pass them off as bracers... she'd just have to be careful with the shells.

She learned a lot more about Imperial culture from speaking and living with the other recruits. First impressions were not good. Even Vadiik's xenophobic dogmatism was insignificant compared to the average citizen of the Imperium. Despite this, her fellow recruits were still decent people. They looked out for each other, supported each other. Ros and Caolin were no exception, however much Ros tried to deny it.

And while the physical demands of the training were strenuous, they weren't too difficult for the former Huntress. After a while, training got _fun_.

Yang loved it.

* * *

Graduation was a small and sudden thing, a piece of paper that each member Gamma platoon received. 'Congratulations!' It read. 'You are now a fully-ordained member of the Imperial Guard! Do your utmost to serve the Emperor-' which was about as far as Yang got before she threw the paper in her locker.

Only a week remained until they exited Warp at Elodia IX.

Yang knew what awaited her comrades, and she'd do her best to protect them.

Her leg hung absent-mindedly from the top bunk, as she stared at the ceiling that was mere inches from her face. As scary as it was, the prospect of combat thrilled her. This is why she joined, after all.

"Hey, Yang, you gonna join us?" Caolin asked, poking her leg.

"Hm?"

"Rhain and Mael smuggled a ton of amasec on board. We're celebrating!"

"Amasec?" Yang asked, rolling over to face him.

"How can you _not_ know what amasec is? Did you live under a rock your entire life?"

"Don't judge the poor girl, Caolin!" Rhain rumbled. "She's never experienced the finer things in life!"

"Whatever you say, old man." Caolin grumbled. Rhain pulled him into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles into the kid's hair with a vicious noogie.

Ros watched it all with an amused smile. Training had worn the baby fat from her face. Now hard and lean, her visage was that of a soldier. Her red hair was still short, barely reaching her ears after the inaugural cropping it received. She handed a flask to Yang, passing it up to her bunkmate.

Yang sniffed at it. She grinned, downing the entire contents in a few seconds. The liquid was abrasive and crudely brewed. Only a faint whisper of grapefruit told her that the concoction was something other than rubbing alcohol.

It was delicious.

"Golden Throne!" Caolin called from across the barracks. "There's a woman who can hold her drink!" She gave a small bow, and belched. Ros reddened, ashamed at her friend's antics. Everyone else laughed.

"Mael? Was this yours?" The mute man nodded, laughter in his eyes. He was bigger than most recruits (still shorter than Yang), and held the honor of wielding the squad's rocket launcher. He chuckled. A low, strangled noise that revealed the stump of his tongue. "Thank you very much!" No Strawberry Sunrise, but it was something.

"My turn." Ros said, reaching for a flask. Rhain tossed it to her, the contents splashing softly within. She tried to imitate Yang and failed horribly, coughing and spluttering after a few seconds. "Fuck! How," a cough, "how do you _do_ that, Yang?"  
"Practice."

Mael took a swig from his second flask, some contents leaking out and spilling down his chin. He waved his arms around, a gather-round motion. They handed their canteens, and he filled them up.

He raised the flask, as if in salutation.

"To the Emperor, and the majesty of his Guard!" Caolin said, reading Mael's movements. They drank.

"To Ros, and her promotion!" Yang said, hefting her canteen. They cheered again, celebrating Ros' promotion to Corporal a week ago. The woman in question blushed, shrugging as her comrades cajoled her.

"Ah, you Emperor-damned idiots will be the death of me." Ros muttered, sipping at her amasec politely. Her face twisted up at the taste.

"_Corporal_ Ros has a weak stomach, it appears." Rhain said, grinning like a wolf.

"You have no idea." Caolin said, nudging Yang in her side. She giggled, starting to feel the warm release of liquor crawl through her. "I remember this one time…"

"No." Ros said, paling.

"I'm gonna tell them."

"_Don't_."

"Do it!" Yang said, leaning forward a little, hopefully tempting Caolin to do her bidding. Mael nodded, also interested in the story.

"Well since you asked so politely…" He started, grinning at Ros.

"I. Will. Murder. You."

"It was the end of the Harvest Season, and Ros' nineteenth birthday party. Naturally, the Bardigaal youth were out in force." Rhain rolled his eyes. "Ros had this huge party, had at least a hundred kids out in the fields, drinking bathtub amasec like it was water."  
"Caolin you utter _prick_…"

"And Ros gets the brilliant idea to get her harvester and have a joy ride with her closest friends. 'C'mon you guys, let's make this party mobile!' She said. Accompanied with much hooting and hollering, of course." Yang snickered. Blake and herself did something similar during the 'Cruiser Incident' of which they did their best to never speak of again.

"So we're bumping along, and we here this shouting behind us. And guess who it is? It's _Koris_."

"Shut the fuck up, Caolin."

"No, no no, this is the best part! Suddenly we realize we are _not _on Ros' harvester. We're on Koris'! She stole it without even realizing it! I remember it, oh _Emperor_, the look on her face! She'd fancied this guy for _years_ and she stole his fuckin' tractor from right under his nose! On _accident_!" Rhain laughed, a rumbling, hearty sound.

"Kids!" He chortled, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Anyway, she stumbles off the tractor…"

"If you finish this story, I will personally drag the commissar down here and have him shoot you in the face."

"She's apologizing and stammering, and we're all making fun of her and shit."

"Last chance, Caolin." Ros said dangerously.

"And she ups and vomits on him! Three months later, they're engaged!" The group burst out laughing. Ros gave an indignant cry and tackled Caolin. Yang, struggling to contain her mirth, caught his canteen before it spilled.

"I guess you could say they were… a-tractor-d to each other!"

"Boooo!" Rhain cried, throwing his coat over Yang's head in punishment. A few other guardsmen joined in, hooting their disdain for her awful pun. "That was _terrible_!"

Mael let out his usual laugh, a small stuttering gasp.

Ros and Caolin struggled. Punches flying, legs kicking. Yang took a sip from her (Caolin's) drink.

"Gah! Someone ger'off!" He cried, trying to crawl away from the assault.

"I don't mess with rank." Rhain said. Mael agreed silently, nodding stoically.

Huffing and panting, Ros managed to pick Caolin up and throw him over her shoulder. He hit the metal floor with a dull thud. She straddled him, raising a fist to strike. Coalin shifted under her legs, his head narrowly avoiding the blow. Yang gave him a high-pitched whistle.

"Nice moves! Hey Rhain, I bet you two cups of amasec Caolin throws her."

"Traitor!" Ros yelled, trying to keep Caolin contained.

The door burst open to reveal the eternally pissed-off Sergeant Jorvis. Yang sprang up, thinking quickly. She smashed her hand on the floor.

"And _TEN_! Sorry Caolin, you lost this round!"

"Trooper Xiao Long, what in the name of Holy Terra are you jackasses doing?" Jorvis cried. His metal eye searched them for the slightest fault.

"Sir! We are sparring in preparation for planetfall, Sir!" He considered this for a moment.

"Out-fucking-standing! I pray to the Emperor all of the platoons are as dedicated as you!" He slammed the bulkhead shut and stormed down the corridor, leaving the barracks in stunned silence. Once they were sure he was gone, the squad burst out laughing. Even Caolin, who was still thoroughly pinned.

They got off the floor, dusting themselves off. Ros swooped down, plucked Rhain's amasec from his hands and downed it, this time without the accompanying grimace.

"To Yang, and her swift thinking!" Yang raised her hands disarmingly, pretending not to be pleased with the praise.

"Hear, hear!" Caolin echoed, nudging her. She grinned, and pushed him down onto his bunk.

"Shut up and drink."

Yang got drunk that night, something she hadn't done in far too long. It was nice. There was real, actual laughter in the barracks. Ros and Caolin got to reminisce (less violently), Mael and Rhain drank themselves to oblivion, and Yang enjoyed watching them slur and stumble. She couldn't help but feel like a trespasser of sorts though. This wasn't her world. Her fingers tightened around the canteen of amasec she'd been sipping.

And like lightning, the realization hit her. There wasn't anything left for her in Remnant anyway. _It doesn't matter that it isn't my world._ _This is my home now_. She thought, watching her friends' antics with a small smile. Her mind made up, she went to go tease Caolin. He didn't pay her much attention though, he was too wrapped up in a story Ros was telling. Oh well.

She stumbled back to her bunk, settling under the covers with a contented sigh. The barracks swam pleasantly before her, rocking back and forth like a ship on the sea. The sea. How long since she had seen a sea? She fell asleep, a canteen clutched loosely between her fingers.

* * *

Running. She remembered running. Dashing across Patch and laughing. She's holding someone's hands and it looks like Ruby's but it's too bloody to tell.

She's in a bar. Junior's bar. Lights flashed and pulsed, brilliant and stunning in their flickering patterns. The music here does not blare, but shakes, a low, resounding pulse. You can feel it churn your stomach, rattle your bones. She loves the music here.

get me another

don't you think you've had enough

no now get me another

you're lucky i let you come here

The bass drops again, thumping, pounding, constant. Saxophones sing a sultry, keening cry.

i love this song

She thinks, kicking her drink back. The alcohol, the music, they go well together. Both are bright, both dull the bladed edge of the needling pain that wallows in her heart and under her skin. They are sensual and alive.

She laughs.

But gone is the metal, the lights. Gone is the concrete floors and leather stools. It's wood now, a quieter venue, a different bar. Junior's place got busted somehow. Her finger traces the watermarks that stain the bar. The music here is different. It is not vibrant. It is black and white like piano keys. She hates the music here.

A faunus sits next to her. He's cute, with some deer-ears poking out of his scruffy brown hair.

hello beautiful

hello yourself

Somewhere else now, with faces she does not recognize. They are smiling, but she is not. PAIN is everywhere BLOOD OH DUST WHOSE BLOOD

stains everything and everyone and she clasps her neck hoping to stitch the skin together but hahahaha that won't happen, no sir.

HA HA the joke is funny but why is she crying? The dead ones beside her. They were alive and smiling but she made them dead. She _likes_ making them dead, she realizes, laughing through the opening in her neck.

* * *

Yang bolted awake, nearly bashing her head on the bars of Ros' bunk above her. Another nightmare. They had pervaded her sleep ever since she boarded the _Ascendant Dawn_. They scared her, as did the violent, angry pulses that persisted in her waking hours, horrific in their sheer brutality. She didn't know if they were just nightmares, flashbacks of some kind, or something else. _Ruby. Think of Ruby._ Remembering her sister usually helped in abating the strange impulses. _Sweet, innocent Ruby._ Her breathing slowed, returning to normal after a few minutes of focusing. _Whew._

_What would she make of the Imperium? Of the death, the cruelty, the insanity? She wouldn't last too long, that's for sure._

She shuddered, wrapping her blanket tight around her. It would be another week or so before they made planetfall. Rubbing her eyes, she saw Rhain had awoken, and was sitting silently by his bunk, kneading something in his hands.

"Rhain?" She hissed. He looked up. Silent tears ran down his face, soaking into his thick beard. "Rhain, are you ok?" He nodded, putting a finger over his lips.

Exiting the comfort of her bed, she padded over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot and sweaty beneath it.

"I'll be ok, Yang." She fetched a clean (amasec-free) canteen for him. He drank it, but slowly, listlessly.

"What's wrong?" She asked. When he didn't answer, Yang sighed. "Who did you lose, Rhain?" He didn't look up.

"My wife. My daughters. My son." He said, his fingers counting the beads that flanked the Aquila around his neck. "Why me? Why did I get to live?" He looked at her, a flood of tears staining his eyes red and weary. Yang sat down. His words felt familiar. They reminded her of friends and loves she left on Remnant, holding them as they passed or hearing about their sacrifice and dying inside, bit by bit. The grief was a terrible pulling, one that threatened to rip her heart free from her ribs.

"Why did I get to live when… oh Emperor help me, Nedi was _seven_. _Seven_! They _ate_ her, Yang. Sick, disgusting, foul _bastards_." She didn't know what to say. "The Emperor protects." He whispered. "The Emperor protects."

"You… volunteered." She said.

"Yes. There was nothing left for me on Woadia." Yang shuddered. Two peas in a pod. "I'm sorry." He said, sniffling before wiping his face with the back of his hand. "The amasec brings me back. I- I shouldn't have brought any. The graffruit, it… it was Nedi's favorite. Nedi. Cef. Madra. Illys." Each name brought another bead winding through his fingers. "Nedi. Cef. Madra. Illys."

"They know you made the right decision." Yang said, trying her best.

"I know." He smiled. "I won't my loss affect performance." He gave a dark chuckle. "Might even enhance it, really." Yang gave him a small smile, and told him he should drink some more water. He did so, this time in full, flooding gulps. "Thanks Yang."

"Of course."

"Can you… tell me about your sister? If you don't want to, that's fine. I-" Yang held her hand up, stopping him.

"It's fine. It's ok." Rhain gave her a look. "Really, it is."

"Thank you."

"Well, to start, her name was Ruby Rose. Two years younger than me. Liked the color red…like a _lot_." She smiled. "Strawberries were her favorite. Always wore this raggedy cape Mom gave her." She twirled a finger through her hair, feeling it knot around her knuckle. "Always had a big, dopey smile on her face." He grinned.  
` "She sounds like an interesting girl."

"She was." Yang chuckled a little, remembering their first few days at Beacon. "A little awkward though. Had trouble fitting in. Never let it get to her though. Always upbeat. Always smiling. Even when the last breaths left her body…" Her hands wound tighter in her flaxen hair, pulling it taught. "She said…" A few tears pooled in her violet eyes, threatening to fall free. "She told me to stay strong. Give her that smile of mine."

"How did she die?" Yang's smile returned. If there had been any consolation about Ruby's death, it was that. She turned to Rhain, beaming despite the tears that crawled down her face.

"Like a hero."

* * *

**A/N: I promise, the next chapter with Yang, they'll be in the thick of it. It's gonna be awesome. What did you think of the chapter? Too fast? Too slow? OCs grating? OCs rock? Let me know! Every little bit helps!**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, guys! I love each and every single one!**

**Review**** Replies:**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Hopefully I addressed your concerns here!**

**thefluffyone93: Remember, Papa Nurgle loves you! He just loves you more if you're a fetid pile of weeping sores and mucous. :3**

**L4 of the WEST: Hurrah! I aim to please!**

**Bear of Cali: Indeed!**

**TheSolInvictus: No grimm here, just regular ol' plague zombies. Just figured ol' Decius and the gang wouldn't know what they are, so they didn't specifically refer to them as 'zombies'. As to the bolter shell thing, you're right, but we're gonna see how the story goes. If she's lucky, she won't have to fight anyone with the ****wherewithal to come bearing boltguns!**

**RED Roman Pyro: Ooh, an interesting idea with the Inquisition! Rest assured, they're tagged for a reason, and you'll find out why next chapter! ;) **

**giodan: Noop, just regular plague zombers! **

**Yoshtar: Gwah! You're making me blush! Hopefully, I addressed some of your questions here! **

**deathwing316: Ooh, cool idea! We'll see how Yang does in the guard first! haha**

**AW YUSS, LOVE ME THEM ****REVIEWS**** *Uses reviews to fuel Astronomican***


	5. Baptism by Fire

**A/N: Buckle up boys, we have xenos to kill!**

**Next chapter of RWBYhammer 40k, _ALL RIGHT!_**

* * *

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 5: Baptism by Fire-**

_"Rejoice, my brothers! For it is only awash in the blood of xenos that we may truly live!" – Deathwatch Keeper Phaedron_

After six months away, it was time to get back in it. Yang's fist wound tight around a safety rail, keeping her anchored on the lander. Ember Celica emblazoned her wrists, ready to unleash havoc. Her flak armor was strapped tight around her, causing her to shift uncomfortably. _Always been a little tight on the girls_, she thought to herself, trying once again to wiggle a little more breathing room into her armor.

Ros was next to her, one hand on the bar, the other clenching her lasgun. Noticing Yang's eyes, she gave her a weak smile and a nod. This was it. Yang beamed back.

And she felt free for the first time since she stepped foot on the _Ascendant Dawn_. The red haze that ate at her mind was gone, and she could breathe deeper, stretch as she used to.

They were here to clear an ork infestation that had sprung up a few months ago. Orders: link up with the PDF armor, set up defenses, and let the stupid green bastards spear themselves on a full regiments' worth of lasguns.

The lander bumped and rattled as it burned through atmo, heating the metal floor beneath them. Many of Yang's platoon members did not share her eagerness for a fight, and their green, pallid faces did not improve the mood.

Ros noticed as well. Taking a deep, filling breath, she stepped out from her place in the line and brought forth a plastic jar. A shrill buzz echoed throughout the lander, and the lights extinguished themselves, surrendering to a low, red glow.

"All right, Gamma Platoon!" Ros bellowed. "Just like church, now ya hear me?" A few nervous nods from her squad mates, but Yang looked around, puzzled. The red-haired corporal stomped her foot on the metal floor. _Clang_.

"Today we ride forward to do battle with the enemy!" A few stomps from the platoon, in perfect synch. Ros dipped a finger in her jar, and spread a dye of some sort on the trooper next to Yang. "Under the gaze of the Emperor, we will grind the xenos into dust! ÁUH!" She shouted, a cry taken up by many of the platoon. _Clang_.

"We Woadians were warriors once!"

"ÁUH!" Yang joined in this time, grinning. Their boots hammered the metal floor. Ros dabbed a smear of blue paint onto Yang's forehead, making a line down her nose.

"And it is clad in the armaments of the Imperium that we will be again!" Ros traced a swirling line on her flak armor, and moved down the line. Mael copied her work on the soldiers opposite of her, another jar in hand.

"With steel and holy las-fire, we will descend upon the enemy!"

"ÁUH!" _Clang_.

"With the men and women of Elodia, we will make our stand!"

"ÁUH!" _CLANG. _The entirety of the platoon took up her cry, slamming their heels down. Even Sergeant Jorvis.

"With curses on our lips and hatred in our hearts, victory will be ours!"

"ÁUH!" _CLANG!_

"With joy and zeal, we will lay down our lives for the Emperor!"

"ÁUH!" _CLANG!_

"With fire in our souls, we will leave no survivors!"

"_ÁUH_!" **_CLANG_**_! _Reaching the end of the line, Ros turned to face them all.

"_DEATH_! DEATH TO THE XENOS! AND DEATH TO ALL ENEMIES OF THE IMPERIUM!" She finished her speech with a roaring shout that managed to drown out the roar of decent.

"**ÁUH**!" Yang screamed with the rest of them, blood pumping hard against her temples. _And_ w_here on Remnant did she pull _that_ from? _With a two-minute prayer, she turned the sickening, ashen faces of their comrades into visages of steely determination and zealous rage. _Scary_, _to say the least. They take their xenophobia seriously._

She came to her, handing her the jar. Yang nodded, understanding. Dipping two fingers into the cool blue paint, she mirrored the markings Ros had given her. The harsh, tribal war paint settled onto her skin, her countenance now menacing and cruel.

The lander slowed as it approached the surface of Elodia IX, jets kicking on and screaming a fiery rage as they fought against gravity.

Yang beamed as she watched the door open beside her. Prop-wash whipped at hair, sending it into chaotic disarray. The kiss of wind was a welcome one, a liberating and welcome sensation after the stale, recycled air of the _Ascendant Dawn_. They touched down on the dusty surface of Elodia IX, the lander's belly settling a yard above the dirt.

Sergeant Jorvis waved them forward with his chainsword, bellowing and screaming. They poured out of the craft, lasguns at the ready, faces painted a fierce blue. As before, the scale of Imperial Warfare astounded Yang. The whole 111th was landing, ten thousand soldiers lining up and disembarking. Dust choked the air, kicked up by the hundreds of landing craft.

The Regimental commander Colonel Longinus von Israfel stood above them, perched atop a huge rock outcropping with his retinue flanking him. He pointed and gestured, speaking a few times to his vox-caster.

He was too far away for Yang to hear anything he was saying. He raised something over his head and yelled, a cry that was taken up by the entire regiment. Even Yang participated, roaring despite having no idea what they were yelling about.

Rhain reached for the vox-caster he'd been assigned, fiddling a few knobs on the machine.

"We got orders coming through." Jorvis nodded, pressing his microbead further into his ear. His other hand blocked out the winds and shouts that surrounded them. While they spoke with command, Yang clapped her friend on the back.

"That was an awesome speech, by the way. With that kinda energy, we could probably scream the orks into submission." Ros grinned, laughing slightly.

"Really? Mael wrote it out for me. Old woadian battle hymn, with my own additions. I thought I made a mess of it."

"You guys did good." She replied simply, gazing out at their friend's painted faces. Jorvis turned to address them.

"Ok, listen up, platoon! We're heading out! Follow me!" They obeyed, falling into line and jogging after him. Ros was behind him, then Yang and the rest of the squad. It was hard to see past a few yards, such was the press of bodies and roiling clouds of dust.

The 111th rushed to obey various orders, running to positions and scrambling to ready weapons. Boots by the thousands ground into the grey soil, hurried and purposeful.

"Command urges haste!" Rhain said, relaying the vox-chatter to the rest of the squad. "The xenos have been alerted to our presence and are spoiling for a fight!" Yang grinned. Besides the traitor marine, the Chaos cultists had been easy. She wondered how orks fought.

It took an hour of pushing through flak-armored bodies and dodging the gigantic treaded tanks that bustled around the LZ, but they reached their destination, the crest of a small hill.

Yang took a few glances around, trying to get a better picture of their surroundings. Besides the huge hive city that stood leagues behind them, the surrounding landscape was mostly barren. Colossal mesas and mountains stretched out in the distance, as grey as the gravel beneath their boots.

A dust storm of some sort was heading their way, dust kicking up and spilling into the wind.

"Ok, Platoon! Orders are to hold here! The orks should be here in a few hours!"

"Where are the orks, sir?" Yang asked.

"You're looking at them, Private!" He said, pointing at the dust storm.

Yang gave a low whistle. Looking to her flanks, she realized her platoon sat in the center of the 111th, surrounded by thousands of her Ranger brethren. Behind them stood the PDF, who had marched out of the city a few days beforehand, massive tanks and vehicles in tow. Even a mile away, the giant Basilisks were plainly visible, mobile artillery pieces whose steel barrels reached into the sky. Leman Russ Battle Tanks sat in front of them, squat and resolute.

The longer she looked at the encroaching Orks, the more concerned she grew. The number of green-skinned barbarians that bore down on them was truly astounding.

"Spades out, ladies!" Jorvis cried. "Dig some holes for the xenos to trip over! Trenches and foxholes people, get on it!" Yang obeyed, joining her platoon in some laborious digging. Soon she was sweating. It was hot on this blasted planet, and there wasn't a single cloud or piece of shade.

An hour later, she stood, wiping her forehead. The orks looked closer. Too close.

"Hey, contact! We got contact!" She yelled. Jorvis ripped out his binoculars, following her fervent pointing.

"Well I'll be damned. They got fast movers! Lock and load people! Mael, get on that rocket launcher! Caolin, hit 'em as soon as you can. Rhain, get the Basilisks on the horn!" Yang packed her spade away, and readied her lasgun.

The platoon followed suit, scrambling behind the shallow trench they had constructed. Thousands of woadians followed suit, readying themselves for the ramshackle vehicles that screamed towards them.

"Artillery Batteries one through twelve!" Rhain shouted. "Requesting fire support, how copy?"

Yang looked down the iron sights of her weapon. Ember Celica was useless at this range, at least with the shells she had with her. The slugs would have been more useful, but those had disappeared when she arrived on Woadia.

"Coordinates two-niner, four klicks from map reference point Falcon-6."

The runners that approached them were quite unlike any Imperium machinery Yang had seen before. Threadbare and filled to the brim with hooting green orks, they barely looked functional. Bits of metal and rusted spikes protruded from them, all painted in a garish red and checkerboard patterns.

"Copy that!" Rhain yelled. "Fire for effect!"

The ground shook, vibrating from the unrelenting power of the Basilisks' barrage. Yang felt her stomach drop from the utter force.

Her hand tightened around the lasgun, ready, waiting. Thunderous blasts burst forth before her, enormous plumes of dirt and fire erupting into the air as the Basilisks struck. The vehicles nearest the blasts were vaporized, torn to shreds. More of them swerved and toppled, crushing their occupants below them. Each strike shook the ground, each blast blowing hundreds of orks apart.

Caolin's long-las barked as he tried to pick off the drivers. Red beams soared downrange, most missing their mark. Decrepit and crude though they were, the armored trucks were _fast_. One of Caolin's hotshot rounds hit home. The driver spilled out of his seat, throwing the whole thing off course. It crashed into another truck, ramming it and sending them tumbling end over end into the earth.

"Golden Throne! What a beautiful shot, Caolin!" Ros cried.

"Hear that, Mael?" Caolin asked with a wide grin, nudging the giant mute. "Actual praise." His face was still pressed into his scope.

Mael did not respond. His fingers wound tight around his Aquila, lips forming silent words that would never find wind. The launcher was braced against his shoulder.

As the trucks neared, the air was filled with their howling engines and hooting orks.

"Open fire!" Jorvis cried. Red beams poured forth, railing against the ork armor. They returned fire, blaring autoguns ripping into the 111th. A guardsman from their sister platoon caught one of the rounds in her chest. She exploded backwards from the force, showering her comrades in blood.

"Oh, Emperor protect me!" Someone cried.

"FACE FORWARD, MAGGOT!" A sergeant cried.

The flurry of las beams did nothing to stop the orks' advance. A round whistled over Yang's head, missing by inches. She grimaced, hammering the trigger of her lasgun. Mael gave a wordless roar, and fired.

The lead vehicle shattered and burst apart under the screaming rocket. Molten slag rained down around them, propelled by momentum. The Leman Russ tanks opened fire, scything down the poorly-armored trucks. Explosions and chaos reigned, a crushing swell of noise and heat.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" Jorvis cried. The platoon echoed his cry, redoubling their efforts. Trucks slammed into the Imperial lines, crushing dozens of guardsmen under their treads. Some were impaled by the rusted rebar spikes that jutted out from their fronts. They hung there, screaming and clutching at the shards of metal that protruded from their chests.

Orks tumbled off their mounts, firing wildly and hacking soldiers apart. Now that she had a closer look at the Orks, Yang was surprised. In the Imperial Guardsmen's Uplifting Primer, she took every hate-filled litany about xenos with a grain of salt, but found the passages about Orks all too accurate.

They were huge and beastly, snarling and smelling.

"COME N' FIGHT ME, HUMIES!" One bellowed, swinging a primitive, scrap-metal axe around its head. Jorvis wasted no time obliging it, blowing the creature's head apart with a single shot of his bolt pistol.

Yang leapt to the side, dodging a truck that barreled into the battle lines. Mael's launcher swung to meet it. The rocket struck home, blasting the vehicle apart and vaporizing several nearby orks. They burst apart, showering her in gore.

A burning ork rushed at her, firing his weapon. The rounds crashed into her aura, throwing her backwards.

"YANG!" Ros cried.

"I'm fine!" Yang yelled, stumbling into an ork. She spun around and fired a salvo of las-fire into his stomach. He stumbled and roared, seemingly unhurt. Yang snarled at the apparent uselessness of her gun. She leapt up, straddling the ork around his neck. Unleashing Ember Celica, she hammered the creature, gauntleted, aura-enhanced fists railing against its skull. It whimpered and died, slumping to the earth.

An ork scythed down her comrades, bullets spewing from his mounted turret.

"NEVAH HAVE ENUFF DAKKA!" It yelled, giving a deep, gleeful laugh. Ros dashed forward under the hail of fire, tossing a grenade at the green monstrosity. She dove as it exploded, hitting the dirt as shrapnel tore the ork to shreds.

The din of battle slowly ceased as the orks were beaten back. The rickety contraptions that had assaulted them died down and broke apart, the orks they bore eventually brought to heel under a torrent of las-fire.

"Who's hurt? Give me a status report!" Jorvis cried, stained in ork and human blood. His chainsword gurgled and spat, soaked in viscera.

"We lost Sigfried, Malla, Varrick and Ludas, sir!" Someone cried. "Got a few wounded too!"

"Move them to the back and prepare for the main assault!" Wearily, the platoon obeyed, the deaths of their comrades pushed aside in favor of immediate survival. "Hurry, damn you all! They're closing in!" Yang peered over the trench, seeing the Sergeant's words were true.

"Smart." She breathed. "They used their vehicles to shock and disorient us, while the main force moves up behind." Ros wiped Ludas' blood off her face. He'd had his neck opened by an ork sword.

"Orks don't think like that, Yang. They don't think at all. These ones attacked first because they were faster." Yang let out a small laugh.  
"I guess you're right! Nice grenade toss, by the way."

"Thanks. Wish I'd gotten to it sooner." Ros said. She turned to Yang. "How are you alive?" Worry creased her sweat-stained face. "I thought you got hit by that big bastard with the horned helmet."

"Uh..." Shit. Shit shit shitty _shit_. "I tripped." Yang said lamely. _If they knew about my aura…_

"…Right…" Ros replied, ramming a new battery into her lasgun. Her fingers wrapped tight around the weapon, and she scowled. "Just try to be more careful." Yang nodded, having no intentions to do anything resembling that.

Caolin's long-las kicked against his shoulder as he fired into the encroaching crowd. The Basilisks fired into the mass, ripping gaping holes into the ork lines. Each salvo cut down hundreds, but still they came.

"WAAAAGGGGHHH!" They cried. Yang fired as fast as she could. She tried to pick her targets at first, but as they reached the bottom of the hill, she stopped being choosy. There were simply too many.

Orks fell in their hundreds as they stormed forward, their singular war cry unimpeded. Yang grinned. This is what she'd been looking for.

Bullets crashed into the dirt around them, kicking up dust and gravel. Guardsmen fell, torn asunder by the volume of Ork fire. A man fell in front of Yang, screaming in agony as his blood poured out of him in rushing rivers. Jorvis gave him the Emperor's mercy, before turning his bolt-pistol on the orks again.

"NO QUARTER, NO INCH OF GROUND GIVEN! **FOR THE EMPEROR**!" He cried, raising his chainsword high.

"**_FOR THE EMPEROR_**!" They echoed. Yang found herself screaming as well. Mael fired his rocket launcher, carving great gaps into the screaming horde. They screamed and howled, ripped apart by the furious guardsmen.

The lines met once more. Orks piled over the trenches, butchering guardsmen left and right. Chaos reigned, the shouts and screams of combat pouring into the air.

An ork pounced on Caolin, bellowing in his face while he raised his axe. Yang burst forward with her aura, slamming into it with all her might. The punch tore into the ork, sending him stumbling back into the waiting bayonets of her comrades. She hauled Caolin up. He looked shell-shocked. _Risky using aura like that, but he was moments from death. _Yang didn't give it much thought though. Restraint was never her strong suit_._

Another ork charged her, brandishing a pistol. Running at him, she fired her lasgun, which did no more than irritate its green skin. She ducked under its strike, but it kicked her, sending her sprawling. Her helmet came undone as she spun and tumbled, unbinding her golden hair.

"HUMIE TOO EASY." It said, firing its pistol. She was too fast. Leaping upwards, she brought a heel down on the creature's jaw, shattering it open. Ramming her lasgun into the opening, she poured six high-powered shots into its stomach. It toppled backwards, dead.

Death. She was surrounded by death. The press of the green-skinned xenos was too much. There were so many. Not even the armored support made a dent in their numbers. Yang dodged another strike, ignoring the creatures' guttural howls. Another, unseen, ork knocked her over, straight into the chest of another.

Disoriented, Yang fell to her knee, breathing heavy. A chain axe spluttered above her head, screaming for her death. A red burst of light knocked its wielder's hand away.

"GET AWAY FROM HER, _XENO_!" Ros screamed, bloodied and fierce. It was all the time Yang needed. She jumped up and hammered the Ork into the ground.

"WHAT'S THE 'OLDUP, BOYZ?" A voice sounded from behind ork lines. A giant, armored beast shambled forth. He was a good deal taller than his comrades, wielding a giant, beastly axe. Other orks broke away before him, cowering in deference. Their superior. _Perfect_, Yang thought, beaming.

"You!" She cried, pointing at the green monstrosity. "Come fight me!" It snarled. "What? You scared?"

"WAAAGGHHH! I'LL SMASH YOU UP WIFF ME CHOPPA!" It cried. Yang threw her lasgun aside, unleashing Ember Celica. Before the ork could open fire, she burst forward, screaming. Her fist connected with its face, shells shattering the creature's jaw. It stumbled back. Yang brought her arm back for another strike, but the colossal being knocked her aside with the flat of his hand. She tasted blood. Ugh. _Ow._

She righted herself, just in time to dodge the howling axe. It lodged into the ground, buried up to the hilt. Ember Celica's thundering blasts ricocheted off his skin, before finding purchase and chewing up the giant ork. Blood splashed her by the gallon, but she did not relent. The creature snatched her legs and smashed her against the ground.

Stars. She saw so many stars. She found herself on the ground, blood pouring out of her nostrils. Everything hurt. A small lock of golden hair floated through the air, lighting upon the grey and blood-soaked earth.

She snarled.

Its laugh was cut short by Yang slamming it aside with a vicious right hook. It stumbled, revealing the gaping wound she'd inflicted on it. Another guttural roar, and she ran forward, bringing a fist across its head. Its head met the ground, its oversized fangs crushed under the force of the blow.

She picked the 'choppa' up, swinging it to rest on her shoulder. An ork rushed to stop her, but its head left its body before it could get close. She raised the weapon. The big ork raised its arm, a feeble, useless gesture. "NEVER, _EVER_ TOUCH MY FUCKING HAIR!" The weapon whistled, splitting the xenos' arm in half and smashing its skull across the earth.

Vaguely, she could sense her comrades fighting around her, falling back under the crush of green bodies. These aliens were not the cultists. They weren't human, and would not stop their assault until the last of them perished.

A Leman Russ smashed into a crowd of orks next to her, adding another spray of dirt and blood into the air as it ground trampled corpses into mulch. Dust was everywhere, and visibility was around a dozen yards and dropping. When the tank exploded, all Yang felt was the sudden heat and wave of force that sent her sprawling. Crawling through the struggling and chaos, she came before the wreck of blackened metal and charred corpses.

Miraculously, one of the heavy bolters that the Leman Russ carried escaped the fate of its host. It smoked, sitting forgotten on the earth. Yang grinned.  
Reaching out for it, a foot came down on her arm. While her aura kept it from snapping in two, it came dangerously close to depletion. Exhaustion seeped into her, sapping the strength from her limbs. The ork roared, hefting a machete that would surely bring her end.

With a flash of heat and a crashing _bang, _the ork melted before her eyes, vaporized by one of Mael's rockets crashing into his back. Gore splashed her like a tsunami, steaming and rank. She thanked him with a nod, she stumbled forward, hands clasping around the bulky weapon sat in the dirt. Her ears rang, a pounding, leaden toll that deafened the battle around her. _Why did he have to use a rocket?_ She hefted the heavy bolter with a strained grunt. As strong as she was, the thing was _brutally_ heavy, and the handles were almost too hot to hold. Channeling the remnants of her aura into her arms, she racked the enormous weapon.

"DIE!" She screamed, pulling the trigger. It howled, sending .75 caliber, adamantium-jacketed rockets screaming into the mass of orks, tearing the thick-skinned xenos apart like wet tissue paper. She bellowed as casings fluttered out of the bolter by the hundreds. The weapon was so loud; it utterly deafened the cacophony around her. But Yang didn't care.

A resounding cry burst forth behind her, countless voices giving it strength. Rallying, the 111th Woadian Rangers pushed forward, driving the orks back. Rhain, Ros and guardsmen by the dozens stormed past her flanks, screaming wordless war cries. Ros drove a scavenged chainsword into the leg of an ork, severing it completely as it roared in pain.

Yang joined her comrades in their resurgent furor, stepping forward with her heavy bolter as it chewed the xenos to pieces. Her hands hurt, and the weapon's barrel was slowly sinking to the ground, growing heavier each second. Everything hurt. Muscles and sinew cried out in protest as she fired, but she would not falter. Not when her friend's lives were on the line. Not when she was having so much _fun_.

Another ork fell before her, giant thudding impacts tearing his body apart. Each step was growing more and more difficult, but she pushed forward.

Finally, the heavy bolter coughed its last rounds, the drum she'd been dragging around finally expended. She dropped it the instant the last shell left it, the grey gravel rushing to meet her. It felt like someone was stripping her muscles from her bone, and her breaths came heavy and hot. The endless, deafening noise of combat blended together, a droning mess of battle and death.

Blackness.

* * *

**A/N: Well, what'd you think? I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. (Can you tell?!) I hope you had a blast reading it!**

**A few notes: I originally gave Mael a melta, which TheSolInvictus made me realize was really quite silly. Maybe in the future...**

**And the orks didn't fight in the hive city because I said so. It might have made more sense for them to attack there, but that would have demanded more chapters and would have dragged out for longer than necessary.**

**By the way this is the climactic chapter of Book 1 - Baptism by Fire. That does not mean it is the last chapter in this story, FAR from it. Just that this story arc - Yang's introduction into the Warhammer 40k galaxy- is at an end. Just to clarify... NEXT WEEK'S UPDATE WILL STILL BE POSTED HERE.**

**Just so there's no confusion.**

**Next chapter - The Inquisition is introduced!**

**Review Replies:**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Hey, glad you like 'em! Put a lot of thought into how they interact. And I hope enough shit went down just now! **

**L4 of the West: You didn't miss a tick! Yang's arrival is supposed to by a bit of mystery. And yes! You're precisely correct. Glad to see that was coming off somewhat well.**

**TheSolInvictus: As I said before, Yang's dismissive treatment of the shaving policies was a lighthearted attempt at humor. But as you know, Yang's hair is a touchy subject... And I went back and edited the previous chapter a bit. I didn't mean to imply that the Woadians actually trained with Plasma guns! **

**RED Roman Pyro: 'Cheap and convenient meat shield' are probably the most apt words anyone could use to describe the Imperial Guard.**

**reality deviant: Thanks! :D**

**thefluffyone93: We'll find out next chapter, won't we? ;) Oh, and no 'Look out, sir!' for Yang, that's for damn sure.**

**giodan: I assume you mean Inquisitor... and you'll soon find out!**

**revanchistsunite: Holy shit, you are so right. The instant Yang sees one, it's gonna die, and the deepest pit of the warp ain't gonna be deep enough for that poor bastard to hide in.**

**The Walrus of Eden: Hey, it's only get more badass from here on out.**

**For all my weekly reviewers, thank you so much. Seriously. Without you guys, this story would be dead in the water. You know who you are and KEEP 'EM COMING!**

**FAVES! FAVES FOR THE FAVE GOD! REVIEWS FOR THE REVIEW THRONE!**

**(It's a very humble throne)**


	6. The Lady Inquisitor

**A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaand we're back! This chapter introduces 'The Lady Inquisitor', a character that will come to play a heavy role in the story. I hope you like her! I certainly do! :3**

**Thanks again for the support this fic is getting. It's so awesome to see you guys are getting just as much fun out of this as I am.**

**Without further ado, MORE RWBYHAMMER 40k!**

* * *

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 6: The Lady Inquisitor-**

_"I am not the type to stampede through a battlefield, nor bludgeon my foes to death. No my Lord, I am but a dagger. Humble, unseen, and silent in the night." – The Lady Inquisitor_

The practice hall rang with the clash of arms, a song of steel that soared into the upper reaches of the Black Ship. The Lady Inquisitor was sparring with her acolyte, exchanging a flurry of blows with blunted blades. Pouring her rage and frustration into a strangled cry, she leapt forward. Performing Exterminatus always weighed heavy upon her mind. She'd purged the Augustus system of its insidious plague, but at a steep cost.

Her power armor hissed and whirred as she danced around her charge. Sheer black and trimmed in the brightest of silvers, the ceramite plates were well polished, gleaming under the chandeliers. Runes by the dozens lined her arms and legs, wards to protect against the unknowable malice of the Immaterium. A long brown duster hung over her armor, matching her wide-brimmed inquisitor's hat.

Her acolyte struck, bringing the sword around in a vicious arc. With a deft step, she blocked the attack, spinning around to lash out at his unprotected flank. He sidestepped, settling into a guarded stance. He was breathing deeply, worn from several hours of exertion.

Still, he rushed forward. A clever feint from the red-robed apprentice separated them, allowing a second to catch their breath.

"Well struck, Ira."

"Many thanks, my Lady." He replied. His hood dipped slightly, an indication of his humility. She chose that moment to strike, her coat whipping behind her as she sprung forward. Caught off-guard by her vicious haste, her opponent stumbled backwards. He brought a wide strike around, hoping to shatter her arm.

She flattened, falling under the sweeping blow. It was a risky move, and wholly unnecessary, but it would teach young Ira to prepare for the unexpected. The sword ripped her hat free, letting her ivory hair fall free about her face. Her hands caught her fall, and settled her into a predatory crouch. The Lady Inquisitor lunged forward, throwing a shoulder into her acolyte.

"Oof!" The blow connected with his exposed chest, sending him flying into the air. He crashed to the tile floor a few yards away. He made to stand, but his master's sword was already at his throat.

"Always keep an eye on your opponent, Ira."

"Yes, my Lady. Your second lunge was a stroke of genius." He said, breathing deep. She stuck an armored hand out, and he grasped it.

"It was not. But it was surprising, no?" She hauled him to his feet.

"It was."

"As it should have been. Do not assume the forces of Chaos will take a predictable path. Learning this increases your effectiveness ten-fold."

"I feel as though such an approach is just as useful off the battlefield." She allowed him a brief smile.

"An astute observation."

A sharp rap of knuckles interrupted their conversation. A voice called out from behind the heavy metal door that sealed them inside.

"My Lady, the documents you requested have arrived."

"Excellent. I shall attend to them immediately." She turned to Ira, scooping her hat up. An intricate mosaic of Malcador the Sigilite graced the floor, a feature personally requested from the Titan shipyards by the Lady Inquisitor.

They bowed to each other, a traditional expression of respect among swordsmen.

"Ira, meditate on today. I will summon you again for tomorrow's training session." Ira nodded, striding off to his quarters with palpable relief. He was an exemplary student (she would accept nothing less), but he still had much to learn.

Most Inquisitors kept a stable of acolytes at hand, and formed large retinues that followed them around on their duties, but the Lady Inquisitor was not like most of her comrades. Ira was her one and only acolyte. Yes, her team was smaller than most, but frightfully effective when brought to bear. Only the best attended her, and she was always looking for new applicants. Not many made the cut. Fleeing the practice hall, she made for her office.

Steps, clipped and sharp, echoed down the halls of her Black Ship. The Lady Inquisitor's duster swirled and swept about her, pinned tight to her power armor.

She reached her office, guarded by two Imperial Stormtroopers. They were kasrkin, Humanity's best and brightest soldiers, hailing from the fortress world of Cadia. The Lady Inquisitor had adjusted their armor to her whims, the drab olive-green plates repainted a fierce black and graced with a red sash across their chests. Their faces hid behind sheer white masks.

Saluting crisply, they opened the heavy oaken door which was inlaid with spiraling silver designs, and dominated by the rosette of the Ordo Hereticus. As the doors swung open, artificial sunlight streamed in through the windows, bathing the office with a shining, brilliant light. A mound of papers sat on her desk, as tall as she was.

A truly impressive tower of leather and paper. Oftentimes, she wished for more planets to invest in cogitators for their bookkeeping needs, but some worlds remained hopelessly barbaric.

She fingered the locket about her neck, the one of utmost importance.

"Only the Emperor is inviolable." She murmured. There were heretics everywhere. They infected every aspect of the Imperium, and brought dangers uncountable along with them. Dangers that must be purged, eradicated, cleansed in holy fire. _Heretics, butchers, and liars._

Sitting on her high-backed chair, she closed her eyes. Her mind reached out to the Warp, sifting through its roiling currents. Before her, the stack of papers separated into hundreds of leaflets. They spread into the air, slowly rotating around the Inquisitor as she murmured a quiet prayer. Her breath frosted before her, the room temperature plummeting to untenable depths.

_Useless. Useless_. Papers crumpled and soared across the room before freezing into warp-frost and melting away. It was a tad reckless, using her psyker abilities in such a matter (and telekinesis wasn't really her specialty), but the Lady Inquisitor always prized efficiency in all things. And Chaos had never tempted her. Hers was a pure heart, staunch and unyielding, tainted by the psychic though it was.

She centered upon a document, her mind focusing on a scroll as it unfurled before her. It was a shipping manifest. It had a few names scribed upon it, one of which was of vast importance to her. The name ran like blood off the page, reeking of death and corruption, bringing forth uncomfortable memories, but also the rush of victory. Finally, she had found him, and the plans that had been set forth a decade ago could now come to fruition.

Releasing a pent-up breath, she relaxed her hold on the Warp, the relevant documents coming to rest before her. It was time to strike. A vox-caster sat in her large and luxurious desk. She tapped its activation stub with her foot, picking up the receiver as she did so.

"Captain Barnes?"

"Yes, Lady Inquisitor?"

"Plot a course for Elodia IX, in the Rodresfiel Subsection."

"Yes, my Lady. I will inform you when we are about to enter the Warp."

"My thanks, Captain. Haste is of the utmost importance." Her foot left the stub, severing their connection.

As her fingers wound tight together, she pondered her next move.

The _Scythe of Morning_ left its orbit around a burnt and blackened planetoid, preparing to enter the Warp. In six hours' time, she emerged from the depths of her mind, a course of action chosen and meticulously plotted.

_Like regicide and clockwork_, she thought, standing. Pressing a button, she activated the holographic map that projected from her desk. In a flash of emerald light, countless symbols and worlds sprung into being and danced across the enormous map. Tiny figures sat among them all, each one incomparably dangerous. They were constantly moving, constantly prowling. But The Lady Inquisitor did not fear them. No, she _hunted_ them.

_Like_ _regicide and clockwork_.

She tipped a figure over, grinning broadly.

* * *

Awakening from her slumber, Yang surveyed the battleground before her. The dust had not yet settled, and bodies littered the earth. She coughed, a rattling, broken sound. Pushing herself to her feet, she scooped up her helmet and lasgun. Limping forward, she tried to make sense of what happened.

The sounds of war were still present, but distant, alien. The ones who weren't lucky enough to die were screaming, left behind by their comrades during the press of war. Holding one of her arms, she made her way towards the sounds, feet tripping over corpses both human and ork. Blood soaked gravel crunched softly beneath her boots, the red foaming up about her feet as she plodded along. Pain pulsed through her every step, an aching tug that pulled at the edges of her awareness.

"Augh! Someone, _please_!"

Yang found a wounded soldier splayed on the ground, trying to stuff his entrails back into his body. Her hand went to her mouth, but could not stop the vomit from spilling forth. Crimson rope spooled about his hands, and he screamed and screamed. Sometimes he called for the Emperor, sometimes for his mother.

Wiping her mouth, she made her way towards him. Tears ran down his face, and trails of blood leaked from the corners of him mouth.

Reaching him, she shook his shoulders, trying to bring him into reality. His helmet tumbled off, revealing his roan hair and notched ear. _No. Impossible_. It was the boy from the Departmento Munitorum, the one she winked at those scant few months ago.

"_MOOOOOOOOMMY_!" He cried, lost in his death throes. It was then Yang knew what to do. Her lasgun found its way into her hands, the barrel pushed against the boy's forehead.

"I'm sorry."

The lasgun hissed, and his suffering was extinguished. No tears came to her eyes, no anguished wails over her deed. Just cold acceptance and unbearable weariness. She shouldered her lasgun and marched on, picking and climbing her way through the bodies.

As she descended the hill, the haze of dust about the air faded, revealing a line of green-armored soldiers and vehicles. Still clutching her arm, she made her way towards them. Only the occasional bellow of a Basilisk sounded, throaty and earth-shattering.

"Halt!" Someone shouted, leveling their lasgun at her. "Name and… oh, _Emperor_!" Yang raised her hands, seeing three figures approach her. Their faces were twisted in horror.

"I got something on my face?"

"You… um… Holy Terra. You alright, Trooper?" Yang thought for a second. Besides the general pulsing pain, everything seemed to be ok.

"I'll make it, thanks. You…um. Hm." She found it incredibly hard to concentrate. "Do you know where… Gamma Platoon is? They're probably looking for me." One of the Guardsmen set his lasgun aside and jogged towards her.

"Hey, easy, easy! Why don't you take a seat?" An extraordinary suggestion. She sat, relief overcoming her as soon as she fell.

"I take it that we won?" She asked. The man nodded, sweating.

"Minor casualties too. Sent the xenos packing, the foul things." He spat. "Commissar Daniloft and the Colonel took a strike force out and killed their warboss." He looked her over again. "Are you sure you're ok, you… uh… here." He reached into his tunic and handed her a small box. She pressed a button on the side, and a mirror popped up.

A demon stared back at her, and she watched its features slowly distort. The reflection was not one of Yang, but one of a blood-soaked and wide-eyed monster. Dried blood covered every inch of her, from head to toe. Her hair was matted and stringy, spilling out from under her helmet in a tangled mess. Some of it stuck to her armor, blood sealing it into place. She blinked, unable to recognize herself. A hand went to her face, to touch it, make sure it was real.

"I… um. Thanks. I need…uh... Do you know where Gamma Platoon is? They're probably looking for me." The guardsmen just shook his head.

"I'll see what I can do though. Hey, Gudfriedsdottir! Get on the vox, get a location on Gamma Platoon." One of the soldiers nodded, speaking a few words into a vox-caster. "We pushed ahead after the main ork force broke. Right now, we're setting up a perimeter. Are you sure you don't need a medic?" Yang shook her head. Her eyes did not leave her arms, both of which were coated in viscera.

She unhooked her canteen from its place and took a few swallows. The water was stale and warm, and tasted vaguely of dirt, but to Yang, it was sweeter than sugar.

The guardsmen led her to her platoon. Fighting to regain her composure, she took deep, filling breaths, but nothing seemed to work.

"Golden Throne of Terra!" Someone exclaimed. "It's Yang! Yang's alive! Holy _groxshit_, get over here, guys!" The voice was familiar… Ros? It had to be Ros. Sure enough, the red-haired woman bounded forward, wrapping Yang in a crushing hug.

She sank into the embrace, letting her face fall to rest against Ros' shoulder.

"You're alive! But how? I saw you with that bolter… God-Emperor be _good_! Just how strong are you?!"

"You were magnificent." Caolin said, limping up to them. Bandages were wound tight around his shoulder, and his face was covered in soot. "Like something out of Scripture. I could have _sworn_ your hair was glowing."

Yang accepted the praise, paling behind the dried mask of blood. She'd been very careful not to show off her aura... I_ must've gotten carried away... Thankfully, he doesn't seem... too perceptive. _She let loose a slow breath, trying to still her heart_. Breathe, Yang. _

"Thanks so much, Trooper." Ros said to the guardsmen who had brought her. They nodded, saluted, and walked off.

Rhain joined them,straining under the weight of his vox-caster.

"You're alive! You're a mess, but you're alive!" He said, laughing. "We were crushed when you disappeared!" Mael showed up too, elation evident on his face. He clapped Yang on the shoulder, beaming.

"What's all this about?" A familiar, gruff voice cried out. Jorvis stalked up to them. "There's xenos about! Why in the-" He paused. "Why, it's Trooper Xiao Long!"

"In the flesh, sir." She managed. His metal eye refocused.

"_Exemplary_ effort, Private. Now get that blood scrubbed off and grab your lasgun. Damned orks could come back at any moment!" She nodded.

Mael rolled his eyes. Caolin looked irritated at the Sergeant's comment, but let it slide. Her friends... despite her earlier worry, her friends were all alive...

"We'll be here for awhile, ok Yang? Why don't you take a load off, get settled." He said.

Yang gathered them all in her arms, lifting her four friends up and clasping them tight. It hurt, but she held them.

"You're alive," she whispered, sobs threatening to choke her words. "I'm so glad. I'm so glad." Tears poured down her face. "Thank the Emperor, you're _alive_!"

* * *

**A/N: So yeah, I wrote the introduction for the Lady Inquisitor, but it ended up being too short to justify its own chapter. And I wouldn't pad it out (I don't pad out chapters, each word is there for a reason) so I included a section from the next chapter, which is the battle's epilogue.**

**Oh and yeah, Yang killed a nob, not the warboss. Sorry for the confusion, I'll copy my reply to thefluffyone93's review here: "S****ince the standard woadian probably doesn't know what a Nob is, I didn't put any clarifying language in there". I tried to make it clear he was just a nob (what warboss is happy with just a choppa?) but it was difficult. And if it had been the warboss, you would have _known_ it was the warboss.**

**So, the Lady Inquisitor is an interesting character. I'm curious to see how she develops. A lot of you have probably already noted she's a bit unorthodox, and that will be expanded upon, I promise.**

**And yeah, Yang is a little shocked by the ordeal, she's never really seen the full-scale, wholesale meat-grinding slaughter of war before. As to her last line, don't think she's suddenly turned into an Emperor worshiper, she's just starting to pick up the Imperium's lexicon.**

**Hope you liked the chapter! Please, I really want to know what your reactions are! Every review helps!**

**Review Replies:**

**reality deviant: I agree! Can't wait to see what happens! ;)**

**RED Roman Pyro: Thanks! I tried to capture some of the feel that the official art has in the codex. A wall of lasguns, and that patented IG 'shoot or we're fucked' desperation.**

**thefluffyone93: You are correct. Since the standard woadian probably doesn't know what a Nob is, I didn't put any clarifying language in there. Thankfully, the Colonel and the Commissar took care of the Warboss. :3**

**The Walrus of Eden: Glad you liked it! I don't know just yet about other RWBY characters. That certainly would be interesting to see! If they are included, they'll be few and far between. Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Yang with the heavy bolter was my favorite haha**

**L4 of the WEST: MEDIC! TROOPER DOWN! (Seriously though, hope you feel better!)**

**dksamuri: Yang is from RWBY, an animated series by Rooster Teeth. Very, _very_ anime-esque. Second season recently came to a close. It has its flaws like anything else, but it's worth checking out. If you don't want to invest the time, check out 'RWBY Yellow Trailer' on youtube. You'll get a great feel for Yang's character, as well as her fighting style, in a fraction of the time.**

**SixPerfections: Wow, holy _shit_! Thanks so much for all the reviews! I... wow! Alright, I'm gonna try and tackle all your questions and comments here. If I miss any, feel free to PM me! I'm so pumped you like the story and the cover art! Besides Time To Say Goodbye, I love shopping together cool little cover pics. :) Yang's relationship with Warp-Travel will be explored upon further, I promise! I'm also glad that you like the OCs! OCs can be the death of fics, 'cause if they're not done right, they drag the whole story down. I'm thrilled that even a few have managed to catch your eye. As to Yang's sudden acceptance of her new home, know that I fully plan to delineate on what happened back on Remnant to leave her in such a state! I'm glad it got you thinking, as that was more or less the intention. (But _definitely _****could have been done better) As to Romance, fear not! Without veering into spoiler territory, I'll say that I'm no slouch when it comes to romance, and it'll be done as well as I can possibly make it. I've put a lot a thought into the involved characters, and hope you'll be pleased with the result (THAT GOES FOR EVERYONE, BTW!). I _was_ tempted to give Yang a few flings (it's somewhat in character), but it just left a bad taste in my mouth, so I canned the idea entirely.**

**The Lady Inquisitor is an... interesting woman. That's all I'll say right now.**

**Oh! Almost forgot! Thanks for mentioning those forums. I just tried to look at them, but found myself very lost and very confused. I'm petrified I'll post something in the wrong place and have an angry mob on my hands! If you know the ropes, please, feel free to post my stories yourself. If you do, all I ask is that you link me the threads! Oh, and wait a few more weeks, because there will be a _lot_ more to discuss. ;)**

**Seriously, thank you so much for your support! I'm friggin' pumped you're diggin' the story despite all my fuck-ups. Each review warms my cold black heart just a little bit more, and seeing the stack of review emails you left in my inbox made my whole day. :)**

* * *

**Thanks so much for the reviews everyone! At this pace, we'll beat out Time to Say Goodbye in no time! **

**Next Week: The Lady Inquisitor is on the warpath.**

**ONWARDS AND UPWARDS, MEN! _FOR THE EMPEROR!_**


	7. A Better Imperium

**A/N: Today, A World of Bloody Evolution earns its 'Inquisition' tag. Be afraid. Be _very_ afraid.**

**Oh, and huge shout-out to SixPerfections and flufflyone93, who told me to post on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity Forums. The response there has been incredible and I'm extremely grateful!**

**Onwards, for more RWBYhammer 40k!**

* * *

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 7: A Better Imperium-**

_"An exemplary graduate of the Schola. Beta-level psyker, bordering on alpha. Survived Imperial Psyker Sanctioning when she was eighteen. Without a doubt, the most impressive telepath the Inquisition has seen in centuries. Her transcripts show a cunning intelligence far beyond her age, and a drive for justice I've not seen in some of our brethren. Fear not Sister Steelshield, she's perfect for our organization. I'll accept her as my acolyte tomorrow." - The Hallowed Inquisitor, Lord __**[REDACTED]**__ and Inquisitor Steelshield, Lady __**[REDACTED]**_, _discussing The Lady Inquisitor, Lady __**[REDACTED]**_.

The Lady Inquisitor chose simpler garments for today. She did not don her battle vestments; the sanctified power armor with hallowed seals, for today was a different kind of battle. It was a battle long in the making, carefully prepared and plotted for many years.

Arriving on Elodia IX in only few weeks, her quarry had not managed to flee in time. Such was the speed and skill with which the _Scythe of Morning_ knifed through the eddies of the Warp. The Black Ships of the Inquisition instilled fear and awe for a reason.

To strike anywhere and any time, with exacting judgment and unyielding force, all in the name of bringing justice to the Imperium. Such was the purpose of the Ordo Herecticus. It was a will that the Lady Inquisitor sought to uphold in all aspects of her life, and one that she would find fulfilled today.

It was time.

Throwing her office doors open, she found Ira and her stormtroopers, waiting patiently for her exit. Her acolyte was a promising individual, and undeniably useful, but he was not quite ready for the mission at hand. His time would come. She addressed him with a nod. He bowed low, a fist over his heart. Her kasrkin guard saluted vigorously.

"I am off to meet with Inquisitor Ezzelino. You are in command of the _Scythe of Morning_ while I am away. Understood?"

"Understood, my Lady. I wish you luck in your hunt, and may the Emperor guide you to victory." She smiled and strode off. Luck was for lesser beings, for those who had neither patience nor deft skill. Although divine intervention was always helpful.

Her grip tightened on the inferno pistol that graced her hip. Surety in her plans was one thing, but preparation for any eventuality was prudence exemplified. Overconfidence would not be her downfall. Her power sword accompanied her as well, hanging steadfastly at her hip.

And in the most dire of situations, she always had her Ace in the Hole, her last line of defense. It would not come to that, though. Her quarry today was far too easy to necessitate his use.

Climbing aboard one of her shuttlecraft, she readjusted her fine ivory hair and settled herself within. It detached from its host craft and hurtled towards the city that glowed faintly on the horizon.

_A truly magnificent sight. _She pondered, watching the sun glow a mellowing, sensual orange as it dipped below the ebony skyscrapers of Primum Mobilus. _A shame I must visit… my comings and goings are never good tidings. Especially since the residents have much to celebrate. It is not every day an ork horde is brought to heel. _

Only a few minutes now. She tightened her fingerless leather gloves, relishing the black leather as it stretched over her supple skin. Like the rest of her outfit, they were exquisite, yet served a purpose, as did everything the Lady Inquisitor owned. Functionality. Practicality. Lessons learned as a youth that were no less relevant as an Inquisitor.

"We have arrived, my Lady." A voice called out from the cockpit.

"Thank you, Serviceman Chung." The man gave her a stiff salute.

"Yes, my Lady."

The door opened, and wind tore at her coat. With a hand on her wide-brimmed hat, she strode out to the meeting place. A precarious stretch of metal connected the landing pad to the interior, lit in the growing darkness by a series of pulsing green lights. With the howling wind and eighty stories separating her from the city, the noise below was little more than an empty droning.

The Lady Inquisitor shuddered still, for the wind chilled her. It was an ominous gale, one that smelled like corpses.

She had requisitioned the city's finest dining hall for her meeting with Ezzelino. The interior was sparse but impressive, with vaulted, arched ceilings and baroque architecture; it reminded her vaguely of home. One of the walls was not a wall at all, but rather an enormous window that gave a pristine view of the city.

Ezzelino and his acolyte at stood the head of a table laden with delicacies, as per her request. There were no waiters or chefs today. The acolyte was also here at her request, as she had been the one to recommend him to Lord Ezzelino's service.

"My Lady, it has been far too long!" He boomed, grinning broadly. His acolyte bowed deeply, as was due his station. Raising her hand to his, he kissed it politely, a lingering press that made her squirm in her coat.

He had never been the most subtle man. Even now, she saw the silken visions that danced across his mind, brazen and abhorrent.

"Lord Ezzelino. It certainly has been awhile."

"A while! You hear that, boy?" He asked his acolyte, nudging him sharply in the gut. "A while!" Inquisitor Luccio Ezzelino was a hulking, broad shouldered man, an impression made even vaster by the armor he chose to wear today. It was silver and gold, intricately patterned and thick as steel. A voluminous fur coat lined his shoulders, coming to rest on two aquiline clasps. A brilliant metal disk hung about his neck, engraved in impossibly tiny detail. Her eyes narrowed as they passed over it.

He _was_ handsome, the Lady found herself unable to deny that. But it was a base attractiveness, one that spoke of sheer power and unremitting dominance. His sharply lined jaw turned upwards in a large smile, and lights danced in his cerulean eyes.

"A while! It's been fifty years since we graduated from the Schola Progenium!" She returned his smile, turning her lips upwards.

"At the top of our class, if I recall correctly." Ezzelino chuckled.

"You recall perfectly, as per usual." At the Schola, they had indeed graduated with full honors. The Lady Inquisitor had been academically dominant, while Ezzelino had been physically unbeatable and vehement in his faith. Both had been marked for the Inquisition at an early age. However, like their academic records, the two Inquisitors varied greatly in their approaches to resolving heresy.

She took her seat, scooting the mahogany chair softly across the velvet carpet.

"Now, my Lord, I fear I have unwelcome news." She started.

"Right to business? Come now, we must be friendly first!" He said, his mouth bearing a smile his eyes did not share. She sighed, and unclasped her coat, letting it fall about her. The outfit she had chosen for today elicited exactly the response she expected. Even if she were not a psyker (and able to read his thoughts like text upon vellum), the sheer desire that spilled from Ezzelino would have choked her.

Tonight she wore an open-fronted jacket, covering a tightly wound raven-black bodice that was trimmed in velvet and exposed her cleavage. Combat leather stretched the length of her legs, meeting tall heels that wrapped her feet in metal.

"I suppose we may speak about other things for a bit." It was the least she could do. _All_ she would do. The time was not yet right.

"So tell me, how has life been for the Schola's flawless gem?" She sneered at the old title. It had been too soon since she heard it last. Not like anyone other than Ezzelino used it anyways.

"I am the same as you, my Lord. I hunt the enemies of the Imperium."

"Just as closed off as before. Very well, I shall begin. I have been very busy these past few decades. Heretics, mutants and witches are springing up at an alarming rate." The Lady Inquisitor nodded. He was not wrong. "I visited Elodia IX with the express purpose of clearing it of infestation. The taint of Chaos had spread to even the Lord Governor and his officials."

With that, she slid into his mind like a shiv between the ribs. Around his mind lay defenses so laughable and crude, they would make an ork blush. He remained unaware, smiling as he regaled her with his butchery. She nodded and prompted him, scanning his memories and secrets like a particularly tasteless dime-store novel.

He was lying about his most recent investigation. Only the Lord Governor had been touched by Chaos.

"Him and his cabinet were executed immediately." This was the truth. He had butchered them like animals, smoking them and their families out of their homes and blowing the remains apart with holy bolter rounds. She watched them die, the memories tinged with a hint of savory, repugnant satisfaction.

"It is comforting to know the Emperor's justice has been done." Inwardly, she sneered. Justice. Ha! What a base _joke_. "I have been busy as well. I recently uncovered several seditious plots on the outer reaches of the Imperium."

"Oh?"

"Yes. They were well-organized and expertly planned. But they were no match for me."

"You give the heretic scum much credit." She folded her hands before her, cocking her head at the man.

"Underestimating an opponent is the first step in ensuring his dagger finds its way into your back." Ezzelino guffawed, beaming at his acolyte, who merely nodded.

"You haven't changed! Fifty years and you are the same as the day I first met you. Just as beautiful too." He winked. Flitting visions of herself skirted about in his mind's eye, where she lay moaning, naked and vulnerable. She tried not to gag.

"I see." She sighed. It was only as well that he was easy to manipulate. "I find you quite unchanged as well. You are just as brash and uncouth as I remember." Inquisitor Ezzelino stopped, his features falling before erupting into another boisterous laugh.

"How cold, my friend!" The acolyte suppressed a spreading smile.

"Now please, my Lord, the business at hand."

"Yes, yes of course! But first-"

"Some wine." She said, interrupting him with a smile and two flutes. The drink was from her personal stores. It was a rare vintage, not that the ape before her would know. And quite unlike Ezzelino, she paid for the privilege of enjoying it, instead of just requisitioning it, as was well within her rights.

Her finger ran around the rim of a flute, while she flashed him her most brilliant smile.

"I assure you My Lord, it is quite unlike any other you have tasted."

He bought it. Hook, line and sinker. For now she was forced to stoke his dreams of sleeping with her. But not for much longer.

"That remains to be seen, My Lady." He answered with a sly smile. She poured the liquid out, a heady crimson brew, aged for two centuries on Johannesburg I. Their flutes met in a tinkle of glass.

"May Mount Amalath forever shine upon your path." Such a benediction was a standard quip from the puritanical faction of Inquisitors to which Ezzelino belonged. They were staunch in their convictions that the Emperor's master plan was unfolding around them, perfect and immutable. The Lady Inquisitor had nothing but contempt in her heart for the 'Amalathians'. Stagnant, foolish, and backwards, the lot of them.

"And upon yours as well."

They sipped the beverage politely. The wine was dry, but with a fruity relish that danced an elegant step on her tongue.

"Rutilius Amor... from Johannesburg I – M41.799. A good year." She said.

"A good year." Idiot. Rare thought it was, it was the cheapest vintage she could bear to consume. "Now tell me, what so wounded your pride that caused you to come crawling for assistance?"

The Lady Inquisitor fought back a snarl of indignation. _If only you knew the real reason I sought you out._

"I have recently been forced to perform Exterminatus, on a system-wide scale. An infestation of Plague Zombies brought hundreds of millions to their knees, and despite my best efforts, the source eluded me." He paled.

"I was not aware of this."

"That is unsurprising." An upturned eyebrow.

"And why is that?"

"Because you are a pathetic excuse for an Inquisitor." He spluttered, chocking on his wine. He coughed, his visage turning grim and dangerous.

"You dare insult me like this?!" He said, words sliding out in menacing crawl.

"My business is not in daring." She sipped her wine, and appraised the color of the drink as she sloshed it around in the flute. "It is in knowing. And I know everything about you."

"Emperor _protect_ me, you're an arrogant bitch!"

"Let's not bring the Emperor into this. I know as well as you do your faith is as false as your smiles. You have played up your zeal as a front, believing – correctly, I might add – that it would get you farther in life."

"You _lie_!"

"I have seen it in your mind." He snarled, knocking a tray of food off the table to send it scattering across the room.

"I knew you were a fucking psyker, but I didn't know-" At this, the Lady Inquisitor let loose a loud, uproarious laugh.

"You never know! You truly have not changed from the simpleton I knew all those decades ago." She scoffed again. "Although, to what little credit you deserve, not even the drill abbots knew the extent of my abilities." She chuckled. "I might not be able to summon holy gouts of flame or hurl thundering storms of lightening, but for investigative purpose, my abilities are _unparalleled_. Your mind is like an open book."

"You little _bitch_! I'll have you in for witchcraft!"

"I'm sanctioned, so I doubt you'd get very far."

"Rooting around in my mind like-"

"Your father raped you until you were fourteen, and Chaos cultists made you an orphan." She said, taking another sip of the wine. Tasty stuff. "That's why you make sure the doors on your ship are well oiled. The squeaking reminds you of his visits, when your bedroom door would open and you'd see his smiling face. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, My Lord, but he was missing an incisor on his bottom jaw, was he not? That's what you hated most about his smile." She paused, relishing the sweat that beaded upon his forehead, the metallic tinge of fear that settled in his countenance.

"I used to pity you, you know. Until I learned what a violent brute you were. I tried my best to help you, but you were only interested in what lay between my legs." Ezzelino's acolyte sat peacefully, unperturbed by the revelations laid before him. "It is a burden, I admit. I am intimately aware of the intentions and miseries of those who surround me. Yours were always simple though, so praise the Emperor for small favors." He growled, and red anger radiated from him. She continued.

"Always seeking violence. How many have you killed in the name of the Emperor? How many have you slain on trumped-up charges of taint and rebellion? How many innocents have been tortured on your orders?" She laughed, a cold and spritely sound. "I've read your reports. You performed Exterminatus on no less than three separate occasions, on charges that were –frankly– thin."

"They were valid-"

"You cannot lie to me, so do not try. I know that you wanted to see a world burn at your word, and practically invented cults so you could watch it happen. You are a monster. May the Emperor have pity on you, you miserable sot of a man."

In an instant, he drew his bolt pistol, leveling it directly at her forehead. She took a sip of wine.

"My Lady." A voice whispered in her microbead. She dismissed it, showing a palm to the window.

"Calm yourself Luccio." The sudden use of his first name shocked him out of his anger. He coughed then, beating at his chest with a meaty, gauntleted fist. "I shall forget you leveled your weapon at me, for now at least."

"Why did you meet with me tonight? What purpose do you have in torturing me?!" He demanded, slamming the pistol down on the table, splintering the wood apart.

"I need your help, My Lord."

"With _what_?" He spat, froth railing across his lips.

"I'm building a better Inquisition. A better Imperium. Tell me, have you read the works of Gideon Ravenor?"

"'The Spheres of Longing'?" He huffed, his face red and blotchy from coughing. "I have perused them."

"I figured as much. In his works, you recall, there's a… pattern in his writings, a chorus of sorts… 'Only the Emperor is infallible'."

"Such a statement is obvious."

"You were never truly an idiot, My Lord, just never quite as keen as myself or our peers. It is obvious yes, but the _purpose_ of such a statement is not one of fact… it is more about what such a fact implies. _Only_ the Emperor is infallible." She stood, neatly tucking her chair into its place.

"Not his saints. Not the holiest bearers of his divine word." A sly grin crawled across her face. "And not even his Inquisitors."

"So what does this have to do with 'building a better Imperium'?" He demanded. "Why do you need my help if you despise me so much?!" He said.

"It's simple, My Lord." She leaned forward. "I need you to die."

He paled, realizing. Another cough wracked his body, shaking his enormous frame.

"You are now thinking of that finger I traced so seductively across a glass. Your glass."

"You cunt!" He shrieked, reaching for his bolt pistol. The Lady Inquisitor was faster, kicking it out of his reach.

"You are thinking I may have dipped my finger in poison."

"**_GET OUT OF MY HEAD_**!"

Another cough, but one that did not subside. Instead, it spat blood across the table, spilling through the hand he used in an attempt to stem it.

"So yes, My Lord, I'm building a better Inquisition. One Inquisitor at a time." His acolyte removed himself from his seat, standing next to the Lady Inquisitor.

"You…_traitor_!"

Their matching sterling necklaces glittered in the soft candlelight.

"It is a shame that Inquisitor Ezzelino succumbed to the wiles of a lowly slaaneshi cultist. Is it not?"

"It is." The acolyte said, shaking his head. A recent induction into the Recongregationalists, he was the linchpin around which the assassination of Ezzelino revolved. Now that he was on his way to join the emperor, the Lady Inquisitor and her comrades could be content that a comrade was replacing him.

"For how could he have known her murderous intentions? If he was only a little better at discerning motives and investigation instead of wanton slaughter, perhaps he would have learned in time."

"Such a shame." He agreed. Ezzelino was retching now, blood and vomit flooding from his nose and mouth.

"It is a good thing I was there to witness him bequeath his Inquisitorial duties to his loyal acolyte before he passed." The Lady Inquisitor said.

"Indeed, it was quite fortunate."

Inquisitor Ezzelino desperately clung to life, crimson tears streaming from his eyes as he writhed about on the floor. Bile and blood streaked his hands as he wormed his way to his bolt-pistol, a destination he would never reach.

"I suppose congratulations are in order." She shook the Acolyte's hand. "Oh, and Luccio," she said, turning to face the dying man, "may the light of Amalath forever light your path." He gave one more rattling cough before expiring.

"It is done." The acolyte intoned.

"Indeed." She kicked his body over, tearing his necklace from its place around his neck. _A holy sealing relic… and the greedy bastard wore it as if it was some kind of charm._ "I'll be taking this back to its rightful place, wherever that may be." With a delicate hand, she carefully folded up the relic, wrapping it red silk. A sigh escaped her. Finally, the bastard was dead. She withdrew his seal and tossed it to the acolyte, who caught it in a deft hand.

Still, she felt uneasy. The zombie plagues that were cropping up implied disturbing things. Or… was it something here? On Elodia? She knew a Guard regiment was stationed nearby. Stalking over to the window, a gloved hand caressed the polished glass, and a blanket of psychic energy pulsed throughout Primum Mobilus.

A beacon of psychic energy came back, so bright and so powerful it brought her to her knees.

"My Lady!" The newly-ordained Inquisitor cried, running over to her.

"I'm fine." She waved off his helping hand. "Truly, I am." Blood seeped into her lips, a red trail that ran from her nose. Dabbing at it, she looked out at the city with ice-cold eyes. Tapping her microbead, she spoke in a low, hushed whisper.

"Ira. Contact the regimental commander of the Guard here. _Immediately_." _The sheer power that radiates off this being…_ _God-Emperor and the Thousand Saints of Terra…_ She couldn't even get a good location on the psyker, so great was its power. The former acolyte looked at her, eyes wide with worry.

"Is there something amiss?" She rounded on him, fear pulling at her face for the first time in decades.

"Yes. God-Emperor help us all, _yes_."

* * *

**A/N: Tl;dr: Don't fuck with The Lady Inquisitor.**

**I apologize for the lack of Yang in this chapter! This chapter was necessary on a few levels, both to fully develop The Lady Inquisitor and to explain why she's on Elodia (as well as introducing the Inquisitorial shadow war plot element). As of chapter 13, this is the only fully TLI chapter, so you won't have to worry about another one cropping up for awhile.**

**As for the Amalthians and Recongregationalists, they are puritanical and radical factions of the Inquisition respectively. The Amalthians believe that the Emperor has a perfect holy plan that must remain untouched and protected. The ****Recongregationalists believe that the Imperium has fallen into decay and corruption, and in order to survive, must undergo radical changes.**

**I hope you guys liked it! What are your thoughts? Please, let me know!**

**Review Replies:**

**reality deviant: Thanks! No plans to stop just yet!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Does Yang seem like the sort to seek power and influence? But I'm glad you're liking the TLI. :)**

**Zedicus101: Thank you so much!**

**thefluffyone93: As I mentioned in the PM (and as you may have realized by the end of this chapter), I am very aware of the Inquisitorial factions. From the very beginning of this fic, the conflict between them was going to be a part of it. (Although the factions will be adjusted _slightly_ to fit some story needs. And I have spent many hours on both 1d4chan and good ol' /tg itself, so don't worry!**

**undead3: I mentioned she only has the one! :) And I fixed my little error, thanks for pointing it out!**

**giodan: The ork battle is over, but larger threats lurk...**

**RED Roman Pyro: Sorry! I wanted to write it out, but I don't have their characters fleshed out %100 yet, so I couldn't write it from one of their perspectives.**

**Jouaint: :D**

**L4 of the WEST: She's not hallucinating, just seeing herself coated in blood and being horrified. (Recall that since most people on Remnant have auras, their fights are largely brief and bloodless. To the best of my knowledge, ork blood does not contain hallucinogens!**

**edboy4926: Thanks for all the reviews! I don't know about the Blood Angels, but space marines will show up at one point! Not tellin' when! :3**

**Guest: That will be an interesting day indeed...**

**Bear of Cali: I love your WMG-ing! We'll see how everything turns out!**

**DeusImperator92: You're welcome! Hope you continue to enjoy it! :D**

**CrimsonHeresy: Thank you! I can't wait to write more!**

**Nemris: I bet the tag helped! ;) Seriously though, thank you so much for your awesome review! I would absolutely _love_ to see tabletop stats for Yang, but ask that you wait a few more chapters... you'll see why soon enough! As for restocking on shotgun shells, the IG still stocks a few shotguns (if Gaunt's Ghosts is anything to go by), and carries varying gauge-sizes. I figured at least one has to fit Ember Celica.**

**CV12Hornet: Glad you like it! And hooray, another Dust Effect fan! That premise (Yang goes to different universe) was the absolute genesis for what eventually became A World of Bloody Evolution. However, yes, this story (as a result of its setting) is a lot less happy-go-lucky than Dust Effect. The way I like to put it is Mass Effect's story is about winning, while WH40k's stories are about surviving.**

**biolaj1998: I hope this chapter answered your questions! :D**

**Holy God-Emperor and the Thousand Saints of Terra! You guys are incredible! School's starting up soon, so updates will slow down a bit, but I'll keep plugging away at this! I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am!**


	8. Bright Lights, Big City

**A/N: A slight breather chapter for y'all. I know you guys are wondering about what's gonna happen when TLI and Yang clash, but don't worry! That's coming soon! There's some other stuff that needs setting up first! **

**With that said, enjoy Yang's night on the town!**

**(The chapter is a reference to the Gary Clark Jr. song, awesome song, and very fitting for Yang! Go check it out!)**

* * *

**Book One: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

**-Chapter 8: Bright Lights, Big City-**

_"I'd rather they drink themselves stupid than chew on the muzzle of a lasgun." – Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik_

Cleaning up the main ork force took little more than a few weeks, as scattered bands still roamed the countryside. Companies of the 111th took it in shifts to hunt them, and when the task was done, Yang's company finally got shore leave in Elodia's only hive city – Primum Mobilus. It was a bustling trade port where fliers choked the air like the smog that poured out of its multitude of smokestacks.

Despite the sweltering, frantic atmosphere of the place, (or, perhaps, because of it) Yang loved the place. People of all shapes and sizes filled the street, colorful and varied. Rich-robed traders and dockworkers alike rubbed elbows in the streets of Primum Mobilus, streets that rose almost sixteen-hundred stories in the air.

It was then Yang decided she could no longer marvel at the wonders of the Imperium. Instead, she realized that its architects and engineers eternally competed in one of the largest-scale dick-measuring competitions ever waged.

Its size was almost too large to comprehend. When she stood on the lower levels of the city and craned her neck back as far as it would go, she still could not see the city's summit. Not that Yang and her friends would ever visit it. They were confined to the Lower Hive region, where the lower and middling class population lived.

Grim news arrived on their second day of rest – a visiting Inquisitor had been slain, and another had arrived to investigate it. Talk of it spread like wild-fire among the 111th. The event cast a black pallor over the squad, and even Yang felt a worm of worry burrow deep in her gut. She immediately resolved to drown said worm in alcohol.

Under the shadow of the Black Ships, she dragged her friends to a seedy bar in the lower level. Specter of doom be damned – she was going to get drunk.

* * *

"Another round for the invincible Imperial Guard!" Yang cried, hoisting her empty glass. A resounding 'hurrah' from her friends met her cry. She liked this place. The music was unlike any she'd heard before, but it served the same purpose as her favorites from Remnant: to be loud. Lights of all colors danced and flickered about the spacious club, illuminating the seedier types that frequented the place. The weird thing about this place was a small ring in the center of the club that had been cordoned off, and largely ignored by the occupants.

"Are you sure we couldn't go to that place a little higher up?" Ros asked, straining her voice to rise above the music.

"You came out here to have fun didn't you?" She clashed her mug of ale against Rhain's, laughing as the foam sloshed over their hands. Drinking deeply, Rhain gave a large sigh.

"This tastes like shit. I miss mead." Mael nodded, comically stoic in the midst of the revelry. Yang didn't have any complaints though. It was cold, it was beer, and it helped drown out the screams of that little boy with his guts in his hands.

"How much longer do you think we're gonna be here?" Caolin asked, sipping at his ale and cringing at the bitter taste before gulping it down.

"On Elodia? Not much longer." Yang said. "We probably got bigger fish to fry than mopping up a few hundred orks. PDF should be good enough for that." She sipped at her ale, relishing the acrid taste as it scorched its way to her stomach.

"What else could we have to do?" Ros asked. Honestly, she couldn't be sure why she felt there was something headed their way. Just a hunch. Yang shrugged.

"As long as we keep moving, I don't give a damn." Ros considered this, slouching back in her seat. _Something's been eating at her_, Yang thought, _but for the life of me, I can't figure out what. _"For now," she said, gesturing with her glass, "I'm going to relax."

"Couldn'ta said it better myself!" Rhain said. A red color had seeped into his cheecks, no doubt a result of the alcohol.

"Hey, c'mon Ros, let's go dance." Caolin said, nudging her.

"I'd… rather not."

"Aw, c'mon! Let's see those lanky legs of yours in action!"

"I said no, Caolin. Don't make me kick your ass again." He sighed, admitting defeat.

"You're no fun."

"Agreed." Yang said. "Let's see a smile!" Ros sighed, but gasped when Yang dove behind her and stretched her lips into a comically wide grin. Mael spat out his ale, lost in mirth. Rhain chuckled, and Caolin fell off his chair, howling as tears ran down his face.

"G-Golden Throne Yang!" He cried. "Look at her face!" Ros eventually surrendered, sighing deeply as Yang swooped around to beam at her.

"Emperor save me from the lot of you." She said, punching Yang on her shoulder. Caolin stood, wiping tears from his eyes and drunkenly leaning on Ros. He raised his mug, slamming his hand on the heavy wooden table to draw as much attention as possible.

"Attention! Attention everyone! A toast! A toast to the gorgeous Yang Xiao Long, without whom I would not be here today! Forgive her puns, oh Emperor, for she is unparalleled in battle! Hear, hear!"

"Hear, hear!" Her friends chorused, as heartily as they could. Even a few patrons joined in, wrapped up in Caolin's passionate (yet inebriated) speech. Yang was flattered enough to give him a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

They laughed, once again raising their mugs to swallow the swill they called ale.

"Seriously though, Yang, I-I'd be dead right now if it weren't for you! I mean… Holy Terra! You punched an ork so hard, he _flew_!"

"I guess I did, didn't I?" She laughed. Ros frowned.

"Shoulda seen his face though! It was all… BLERH!" He cried, screwing up his face in a rough approximation of an ork's, earning a laugh from the table. "Ha! Stupid fucking xenos!"

A voice boomed over the speakers, temporarily silencing the thunderous music.

"Alright, you drunken sots, time for what you've all been waiting for! One on one, no gloves, no respite, and no weapons! Place your bets and step into the ring for your chance at glory!" The lights focused on the center of the club, lights swirling dancing on the sunken pit of sand.

"I think that's our cue to leave." Ros grumbled, picking her glass up off the table.

"I think it's our cue for you guys to pony up!" Yang said, wearing a wolfish grin. Ros paled.

"Oh no."

"Oh _yes_." Yang stripped her tunic off, leaving her in her white tank top and fatigues.

"Oh _Emperor_ no." Ros whispered. The boys laughed, piling what credits they had on the table before Yang. She scooped it up, hopping onto the table.

"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP PEOPLE! I GOT A STACK OF CREDITS HERE THAT SAY NONE OF YOU CAN BEAT ME!"

"I'll take that bet!" Someone shouted, pushing his way forward. He was a bigger man, but not hulking. Scars and tattoos raked over lean muscles. He was a hive ganger, with ridiculous pink-dyed hair to boot. "Guard or not, little lady like you gotta be _loco_ figtin' in the pits!" Yang's friends let out a collective groan. Mael slumped forward, forehead clashing against the table. This man was about to die a _very_ painful death.

"Bring it on, pinky!" A few hushed gasps around the patrons. Apparently, the gangers were popular here. Or feared, at least.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our first match of the night!" A roar of approval from the gathering crowd, and an exasperated sigh from Ros. "From the Tunnel Snakes we have the local champ… Rico Monzaaaaaaaaaanta!" A few raucous cheers from his ganger friends. "And from the Imperial Guard, we have a new challenger, a boastful young woman whose name is unknown… A Radiant Golden Sun!"

"Wait!" Rhain said, holding Yang back. "Let's get a pict before Yang drenches herself in ganger blood!" Caolin and Mael laughed, while Ros sighed once more. They squeezed together, while Yang held out the small pict-stealer.

"Say cheese!" Yang said, holding the camera.

"Say what?" Caolin asked. She shrugged.

"It's an expression. Smile!" She pressed the button, and a flash of light filled the club, one more bright flashing light among many.

"C'mon, you scared?" Pinky cried, calling to her from the pits.

"Well, I gotta go kick his ass. I'll be right back." She winked at her friends.

Vaulting over the ropes, lights swirled and danced around her, the beat pulsing pleasantly in her head. She had no idea what she was doing, no plan of action. And she wouldn't have it any other way. The only future she saw was in the ring, another challenger, another fight. Not the digging sensation in her gut. She polished off her drink with a satisfied sigh, tossing the glass over her shoulder.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she threw a few test punches. _Definitely drunk_, she thought _but enough to put up a damn good fight_. Her opponent climbed in with her, grinning savagely.

"Alright, let's see if the Guard trained you good enough to face a Tunnel Snake!"

"Oh, honey, you have no idea what's headed your way." She cooed, smiling.

"BEGIN!" The announcer shouted. The music made a powerful return, a pounding, brutal song, with shouted lyrics, vicious guitar stabs, and a hammering bass kick that shook her to the core. It was _perfect_. Pinky McFuckstick rushed her, revealing the shine of brass knuckles.

_Well if he's gonna cheat…_

She raised her aura, not moving an inch. His metal-clad fist slammed into her face, barely turning it. It hurt a little, sure, but the surge of power her semblance gave her in return made up for it. She winked at him, and the crowd roared. His eyes went as wide as dinner plates. Like lightening, her fists flew into his chest, hurtling him back. Each pounding strike of knuckles on muscle felt good. It felt _right_.

"Gonna have to try harder than that!" She cried. He ran forward, panting. The lights pulsed in time with the music, shuttering her world into short blasts of sound and vision. This time, he was more careful. A kick rocketed forward. With a rush of yellow hair, she ducked under it. Even without Ember Celica, her strikes were deadly. One blasted him in the chest, throwing him into the air and crashing into the sand.

"Whoooo!" She stumbled over to the edge of the ring. "Do you mind?" She said, pointing at a patron's florescent blue drink. He shook his head in awe, and it was gone in one gulp. _Fruity_. She felt her aura twinge, and she dodged the sneak attack.

Pinky was speechless.

"COME ON, YANG! KICK HIS ASS!" Caolin cried.

Yang obeyed, rushing the ganger and tackling him to the floor. She dodged the brass knuckles that assaulted her, but in doing so, threw her off before she could hammer him into submission. _Getting sloppy, Yang..._

Rolling to her feet, she launched a kick at him that caught him squarely in the chest. Normally, she would have channeled a bit of aura into it (which would have crushed his ribcage and sent fragments of bone shooting into his heart), but this was her night out, not the battlefield. _Funny how the activities overlap._ She mused. Pinky sank to the floor, defeated.

"Too easy! Who's next?!" She settled into a stance, purple eyes searching the ring. Two more gangers hopped in, no longer jovial. Mohawk and Nose-ring. _They look pissed._ The announcer tried to get them to back off, to no avail. Yang held up her hand. "I'll allow it, but only if they cough up double."

Snarling, they threw a bag of coins at her.

Laughing, she rolled to the side. Mohawk's eyes darted around, pupils dilated and vibrating. He was hopped up on some drug, and it showed. Sweat poured down his face as he launched a new assault. The attacks were uncoordinated, but fast and hard-hitting. Nose-ring stayed off to the side, launching abortive attacks whenever an opportunity arose.

Throwing up a block, she managed to deflect the worst of it without her aura. An opening appeared and Yang struck, bringing a fist around to smash Mohawk's nose. The crowd gasped as blood shot out, soaking the sand beneath their feet. She bowed, reveling in the attention and dodging a blow from Nose-ring.

One fist found its way into his face, and he stumbled back. Drawing a large knife, he stomped forward. _Oh, this is just too much fun._

"Tsk, tsk, that's against the rules!" She said, waggling his finger at him. When the crowd saw the frenetic lights reflect off the blade, a few gasped, but were otherwise too engrossed to stop the fight.

The knife rushed past her face in a hiss of pressed metal, narrowly missing her golden hair.

Faster than a lasbolt, her hand grasped his, throwing it away from his body. She twisted around, a fluid river that flowed under the hidden second knife. One sharp kick drove him to his knees, and another rose up to meet his elbow, snapping it like a twig.

The sharp-crack sound of bones breaking sent the crowd into a frenzy. He screamed, clutching at his broken arm while tears streamed down his face.

"Let's give him a hand, huh?" She yelled, hoisting the broken limb. The crowd roared its approval, but Nose-ring just shrieked in pain. "Yeah, yeah, well next time, don't bring a knife to a fist fight." She sniffed. "Bad manners." Her friends were cheering their hearts out, and she gave them a little wave as she bent down to scoop up her winnings. Caolin and Mael wore huge grins, but Ros gestured her over before another challenger could step into the pit.

She had to scream to be heard over the shouts and gut-churning music.

"Yang, we need to get out of here!"

"What, do you not like money?"

"I like not being gutted by a bunch of gangers!" The red-head nodded over at the group of pink-haired gangers, glaring daggers at Yang.

"Well-"

"We can't fight like you! And Emperor knows how many of the fuckers are in here!" She sighed. Ros was right. It was time to go, even though a part of her never wanted to leave… that part of her… that insidious whisper that sat in her mind, that part of her that wallowed in endless thirst, the part of her that let her forget Ruby and that horrible blood-soaked battlefield.

_That _part of her…

Nausea seized Yang, and her stomach tied itself in knots from the realization. _I'm a _coward_. I'm running away from ghosts and bad feelings. What would Ruby say? _A heavy sigh passed her lips.

"Yeah. Let's go." Hopping over the ropes, she grabbed her friends and slipped out of the club, much to the disappointment of its patrons. "That was a good call, Ros. Sorry I got a little unhinged back there."

"No way!" Caolin cried. His arm was slung around Ros' shoulders as she helped him along. "That was _awesome_!"

"Caolin, you're drunk." Rhain said, giggling.

"We all are. Now what do we say to Yang, for keeping our wallets in the black?" Yang asked, grinning.

"Thank you, Yang." They murmured, all smiles. Ros still looked upset.

Despite Yang's blackening mood, it had been a good time. The city was no less active for the late hour, as fliers choked the skies, and bright pulsing lights from various signs and stores flickered on the cement walkways. Their standard issue boots padded across the streets, slightly lighter for tonight's revelry.

_Soon, we'll be back at it_. Yang thought. _Maybe it's better that way. _She looked at her hands, which she'd taped up after the abuse the ork-hide had given them. Ganger-blood and sand crusted them, happy reminders of her favorite habits. Her head hurt, pounding with pain. Rhain noticed her contemplation and nudged her, giving her a big smile. She sighed.

"Rhain… I don't think I should drink anymore."

"Yang-"

"I mean it." He was taken aback by the determination in her voice.

"I'll… do what I can. "

"Thanks, Rhain."

"Of course!" He said, clapping her on the back. "It's the least I can do for my friend." Mael belched, sending Yang, Caolin, and Rhain into fits of laughter.

"Alright, ya drunken idiots, back to the barracks before Jorvis rips our balls off." She said, pushing the stumbling men ahead of her. The boys giggled again, nodding.

Finding their way through the alleyways and seedy street corners had not been easy when they were sober, but now heavily intoxicated, it was nearly impossible. Fortunately, through some miracle, they managed to stumble back into their temporary barracks, giggling and shushing each other.

Yang's gut heaved and roiled, the bad feeling now making itself physically known.

"Urgh. What the _fuck_?" She mumbled, clenching her gut.

"You all right, Yang?"

"No." Her nose was bleeding. Why was her nose bleeding?

_Someone's looking for me. How do I know that?_

Pushing the thought down, she opened the door to their billeting. Looking around the room, dour, despair-ridden faces stared back. Caolin, drunk though he was, noticed it too.

"Uh… whassa matter guys?" Lana -a guardswoman from their sister platoon- burst into tears.

"Did you not hear?"

"What about the Inquisitor? C'mon, you can't be sad about that, they're all assholes." Yang said. She'd heard _plenty_ of stories about them from Vadiik.

"No." Lana wiped at her face. "Sarge just heard from Colonel von Israfel… It's… oh Holy Terra… It's A...A…" She couldn't even summon the strength to say it.

"C'mon, spit it out." Yang grumbled.

"Battle has been met on Cadia… It's A-Abaddon. He's begun his Thirteenth Black Crusade."

* * *

**END BOOK ONE**

* * *

**A/N: And so ends Book One, the "Intro Arc" so to speak. I hope you liked this chapter! It was fun writing this chapter out. I figured I had to do at least one chapter of Yang having a night out! I wonder what Ros' problem is... ;)**

**Another reminder... Book Two is NOT, I repeat, NOT a seperate story on . The 'books' just help neatly divide story arcs. :3**

**Now, an important note about the Thirteenth Crusade. I'm changing some stuff around about how it worked in canon. You'll see exactly how and why, but for now, I'm just tweaking details about it, for reasons that will eventually come to light.**

**Oh, and some other stuff to address. I had quite a few questions as to the extent of Yang's power, and The Lady Inquisitor's psychic might. I wrote up a decent explanation on this story's SpaceBattles thread, which I will now copy wholesale (bracketed off for people who don't care):**

**[Gideon Ravenor, (to me at least, and how he is seen in my version of WH40k canon) was an alpha-level psyker. Alpha-Plus is reserved for immortal or above-human beings such as Greater Daemons of Tzeetch, the Psyker Primarchs, or Imperial Saints. I like the WH40k wiki's explanation of The Emperor being beyond such a scale, so this is my interpretation of that information. Right now, no Alpha-Plus beings exist in A World of Bloody Evolution.**

**As to how this all relates to the story, the way I wrote the ending of Chapter Seven was meant to imply that Yang has a very powerful presence in the warp. It does not _directly_ correlate to what level of a psyker she may or may not be, but rather that the signature she possesses is just incredibly bright. (Which _does_ imply power, to a degree) I'm sorry for the confusion. But regarding other psykers...**

**I'm also standing by my decision to make The Lady Inquisitor a Beta-Level psyker. There are several reasons she's that powerful, all of which will be revealed in due time. The reason that she is rated as Beta-level, is because it correlates to how her powers developed. Let me explain: she was able to slip inside an Inquisitor's mind (which are well-guarded, at least by the puritanical ones), without him being able to detect anything. Her telepathy is so strong, it's what pushes her into the Beta-level+ territory. Most mind-reading involves forcefully prying apart people's minds while blood pours out of their nose and they thrash around on the ground. Not only can she do this without the subject noticing, she was also able to root out memories (non-active or stored thoughts) in _incredible_ detail.**

**This is all due to my interpretation on how psykers work. This is the best way I can put it: some alpha-level psykers were able to rend Titans apart, but (again, in my interpretation) some Alpha-levels manifested their abilities in ways other then just pure psychic power. This is what the TLI implies when she's taunting Ezzelino.]**

**Whoo! Yeah! No good way to stick that in the story. Not yet at least! On to review replies!**

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	9. The Weight of Numbers

**A/N: So, what's next for Yang and the Woadian 111th? Something tells me this chapter might hold a few clues! ;)**

**So, without further ado, MORE RWBYHAMMER 40K!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 9: The Weight of Numbers-**

_"Hate the witch, we are told as children. So we do. With all our hearts, we curse the mutant scum. Then, we learn we __**are**__ the witch. Tell me Commissar, what do we do then? Tell me! TELL ME, EMPEROR DAMN YOU! __**TELL M**__-" Primaris Psyker Alesh Surkan, before his summary execution by Commissar Ingrid Hauptmann_

Caolin sprinted out of the barracks, heaving noisily. Yang couldn't do much else other than slump down in her seat. Abaddon the Despoiler. She'd heard about the Gothic War from Vadiik. The last time he headed a Black Crusade, billions died… and the fact that he'd returned…

It explained her earlier uneasiness. Now sober as a tack, she kicked at the tile floor. _At least I'll get to kill more Chaos cultists._ _But what can I do? I'm just a single guardsmen!_ _And I have to keep myself shackled during combat…the second I truly unleash my aura, my friends will turn on me like a pack of rabid dogs!_ She howled, smashing a fist into her bedpost, snapping it in two. Why? _Why did it have to be like this? I just want to help people, and there's chains and pitfalls everywhere I go!_

"Yang…" Ros began.

"I'm _fine_." What a lie. "Is there any word about us deploying?"

"Not yet." Lana said, fingers working a wrought iron aquila. "The Colonel also gave us a regiment-wide warning… there's a rogue psyker loose in the city." Rhain sunk low, fingering the beads about his neck.

"The whole bloody galaxy's gone mad." He murmured, his fingers working mechanically. "Nedi. Cef. Madra. Illys." Ros stood ramrod straight, shocked to the core.

Caolin returned, stumbling as we wiped flecks of vomit from his lips.

"I'm goin' ta bed." He said, flopping down on his bunk. A wonderful idea. Yang climbed into her own bunk, not bothering to remove her bloodstained tank top and fatigues. With the room spinning and roiling, she pulled the covers over her head and surrendered to the exhaustion.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor stared down Longinus, sifting through his mind for heresy and corruption. She found a great deal of fear regarding the Inquisitor standing in front of him, which was all well and good, but alas, nothing substantial. He continued to blather about the honor of aiding and Inquisitor or something, she wasn't really listening.

Further scanning revealed he was the zealous sort, and had murdered his predecessor (one Colonel Crassus) when he suspected him of chaotic taint. The involved memories did indeed point to signs of rot, so she would not investigate the matter any further.

Slicing a hand through the air, she silenced his pious rambling.

"Yes, yes, I thank you for your leal service." The man was perspiring a great deal, beads of sweat running down to his clean-shaven chin. "But this psyker couldn't come at a worse time. If the news about Abaddon's return is accurate…" Her office rang with her words, echoing to fill the vast space.

"It is, I can assure you. The High Lords of Terra have confirmed the reports, and are marshalling the greatest defense force seen since the Horus Heresy." Her kasrkin guard that stood watch at the door flinched.

"Are the 111th included in this force?"

"No official orders have yet been given to us. Our astropaths are working overtime to establish communications with Command."

So there it is. War was a constant in the Imperium of Man, but waged on a scale of this magnitude…

A gauntleted fist slammed into her desk, causing Longinus to jump and quiver.

"Damn! Damn it all!" She rounded on him. "You are aware of my… reputation?" He nodded. "And you know what happens to those I find guilty?" Fearful nodding. "And my tenacity in pursuing those accused of heresy?"

"I do. I-I am sorry if I have displeased you, my Lady." She waved the feeble pleading away. The man before her wasn't the issue. She took a deep breath, letting the stale air of the _Scythe of Morning_ fill her lungs, stilling her frustration.

"Then you know I must go to the front. Any signs of treachery in the defense forces could bring untold doom to the entire Imperium. And I am stuck here, hunting for a psyker." No small psyker, true, one powerful enough to bring forth legions of daemons if they so chose. _I must find them before they make such a choice. A shame the most recent addition to the Recongregationalist Inquisitors is not a psyker. _She thought, recalling Ezzelino's acolyte. _Pushing this matter off on a subordinate with psychic ability would be far more expedient._

"You can leave immediately, my Lady. The 111th is capable of handling this rogue psyker."

"Are you?" She asked, pouring another glass of wine. "How many psykers are currently in your employ?" He coughed, fingers writhing against each other.

"None." He managed, in a small voice. Fear bloomed in his mind, white-hot and strangling. Amusingly, he was picturing his own head bursting apart from her psychic power. Blunts always had imaginative ideas on how the warp worked.

"How many?" She growled.

"None." He said, slightly louder.

"As I thought. So, pray tell, how would you manage to find this individual?" No answer was forthcoming. "Would you investigate the entirety of Primum Mobilus? Knock on every single door in the hive city? 'Hello sir or madam, we were wondering if you happened to be an individual of extreme psychic might. You are? Well, if you could come along with us, that would be _great_.'"

"M-m-my Lady-" Her eyes narrowed, and his stuttering ceased.

"Enough of your simpering. I will remain on Elodia IX until this psyker is found. My conscience will not allow me otherwise."

"Y-you are wise and noble, my Lady."

"I know that, I don't need you telling me so. So now do you understand my need for haste?" Vigorous nodding. "These are dark times, Colonel von Israfel." She poured him a glass of wine. Handing him the dark red drink, she sighed softly. She raised her glass, servos in her power armor whining.

"To the Emperor."

"To the Emperor." He echoed. Their glasses clinked, and she let the alcohol flood down her throat. _By the end of this sordid affair, I would be glad to remain in possession of but a single bottle…_ Wine had been instrumental in keeping her head level and drowning grief under its crimson tide.

"I am trusting you, Longinus. As of right now, you and your woadians are aiding my hunt. You are aware Primum Mobilus serves as a shipping hub, so I require your assistance with a few things. My team is too small to accomplish the necessary tasks."  
"The 111th are ready to serve." He answered, now flushed with pride.

"All departing ships must pass through our small fleet. I shall parse them with my talents. If I find taint, we will vaporize them. On the ground, the 111th and the PDF are to seize control of all inter-planetary shipyards and docks. Every single person leaving the planet shall be investigated. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"I would prefer to desist trade entirely, but with Abaddon approaching, the need for resources and trade makes that impossible."

"I understand, my Lady."

He didn't. He was currently trying to suppress the thoughts that screamed at him, thoughts that denounced the Lady Inquisitor's highly unorthodox methods. 'She's probably reading your mind right now, you blasted fool! Stop it! Wine! Concentrate on your wine!' He thought, downing his entire glass. His raw panic brought her a small, bright laugh.

"You are dismissed Colonel. I shall expect word from you shortly." Bowing low, he hurried out of her office, past her kasrkin guard. Calling them over, she sat them down and poured them some wine as well.

"My Lady…" One started to protest. Darron, a veteran of twenty years, and by her side for ten of them. His wife and fellow guard Chera put a hand on his wrist.

"Your masks, soldiers." They obeyed, pulling away the white masks she'd forged for each of her twenty kasrkin staff. Tears poured down their faces, grief pulling their pupils wide. This was the first they'd heard of Abaddon's newest Black Crusade. Their homeworld was under assault, and they were light-years away, unable to help. They'd remained silent when von Israfel revealed the news, but even without looking into their minds, she felt their anguish spilling from them in choking waves. "Now, a toast." She hefted her own glass. It was the least she could do for her loyal and effective guards.

"To Cadia! May she stand forever."

"May she stand forever!" They cried. With a longing look at each other, they drank heavily of the Inquisitor's wine, tasting sweetness amidst the bitterest news of their lives.

* * *

Yang spent the next day engulfed in drudgery. The Inquisitor had ordered the 111th to investigate all passengers departing from Primum Mobilius. This, of course, (being the Imperium and all) was a mind-numbingly massive number of people. They were looking for the rogue psyker, apparently, but nothing ever came of it. All day she stood in her suffocating flak armor, lasgun at the ready, interrogating an entire host of citizens and officials, asking the same questions over and over again. They'd been told to look for signs of mutation or psychic power, but the most interesting thing Yang saw was Mael decking some jackass in the face when he tried to smuggle a lasgun past them. Fucker went out like a _light_.

At least the constant questioning and examining kept her mind from wallowing on Abaddon. After sixteen hours, Gamma Platoon's shift at the docks ended, and they shuffled back to their barracks, throats raw from speaking and bodies sore from standing.

But now, her mind was free to focus upon Abaddon, and the coming war. How could she protect the citizens of the Imeprium from a monster of that magnitude? _No, I can't think about it. I have to push it away, or I'll go insane_. _Maybe I can go play dice with Ros?_ _I would, if she hadn't been absent for most of the day_. Their loyal, inspiring corporal, vanishing halfway through the most miserable day of their careers as guardsmen... _what on Remnant happened to her?_ She turned to her other friends. Caolin was already sleeping, snoring comically with most of his body still off the bed. Rhain and Mael were busy discussing the finer points of knife sharpening, with Rhain's boisterous voice, and sharp, insistent gestures from Mael.

In short, there was nothing to take her mind off her frustration.

She stormed out of the barracks. The building they'd been billeted in was an old warehouse, with a low, broad ceiling and a few empty floors. She looked around to make sure she hadn't been followed. She hadn't. With a blast of her aura, she rocketed skyward, landing on the building's roof with a soft and practiced step.

With a deep breath, she settled into a sitting position, letting the noise of the city wash over her. Lights pulsed and danced around Primum Mobilus, accompanied by the scream of traffic and bustle of humans, flowing about the city. The sounds were distant, but Yang could still hear them, bouncing off concrete and plaster, echoes of life and luster.

Abaddon would rob them of it. Not just Cadia, not just Woadia, not just Elodia. Terra too would fall if he was left unchecked. How many people lived on Terra again? Trillions? She shuddered in the night air.

Remnant's problems seemed laughably small in comparison. Even that bitch Cinder just wanted control, not the total eradication of order and peace. Her fingers laced together, a suitable mockery of the position Ren showed team RWBY in their sophomore year.

"Meditation helps me focus. It sharpens the mind as a whetstone sharpens a blade." He'd said. So she sat, reflecting on life and this strange new universe. Normally, she'd punch things until she felt better, but last night's escapade had shown that to be a futile effort.

The Imperium of Man…it had been a difficult adjustment arriving here, fraught with blood and grief. At least her duties in the guard were varied. Just two weeks ago, she'd fought tooth and nail to fight off a band of orks, and today, she stood and interrogated countless civilians, hunting for a psyker. _How is questioning them going to reveal that?_ Psykers are supposed to be like magicians, wielding invisible power and letting the warp course through them… like… like… Aura.

The realization struck her like lightning. _It was me!_ _We were looking for me the whole time! It's me! __**I'm **__the psyker! Even that fucking traitor marine knew it! Holy shit! _The thought pounded through her, making her heart hammer against her chest and sweat bead on her forehead. _Think… I need to think_!

She unbound her aura, letting the energy flow and bubble within her. It was a warm sensation, and brought her immeasurable relief. Her hair ignited, soft yellow flames caressing the golden locks. She couldn't help but notice her aura felt… different in this galaxy. There was a snapping to it, a sizzling sensation, and she could see pulses of power crackling and pouring off her skin. _It never did that before._ _Is my aura still aura? Or is it psychic energy? Could it be both?_ A deep breath.

_What should I do? Should I come forward with my powers? I remember Vadiik saying she fought with someone called a Primaris Psyker before. Maybe I could pass off my aura as something like that. _But that probably meant leaving the 111th and her friends behind. Also, the sheer hatred and vitriol expended over psykers gave her pause. She didn't know what it took in order to be officially _approved_ as one, but it was probably something horrific. _Brainwashing at the best, lobotomies and torture at the worst._

She dug into her wallet, withdrawing a few photos from within. One was a copy of the pict from last night, her new friends in her new world, in blurry grayscale. The other was of Team RWBY, vibrant and happy in front of Beacon Academy.

"Ruby." She said, the whispered word fading into the night air. "What would you do, sis?"

'I'd do whatever it takes.' She'd respond. Tears came to her violet eyes. _And that's what you did. You did what it took, and it took a blade in the gut and your blood washing over us. It took your death._ But the thought gave her pause. Ruby gave her life to save the entirety of Remnant -_a_ _single_ _world_! And here she sat, squeamish and blanching at the possibility she might suffer torture or loneliness in order to save _millions _of worlds_._

Packing away the photos, she made up her mind. _I'll turn myself in_. If she could become a Primaris, she could fight at her full potential. She'd bear whatever atrocities the Imperium put her through, and come out stronger for it. Then, she would tear Abaddon and his legions apart. Rend them limb from limb, and burn the uncountable bodies.

She grinned. She was nervous, but weighed against the thought that she might save billions of lives it was a negligible concern. _Plus, getting approved as a psyker… it'll be interesting, that's for sure._ She slid off the roof, landing on her feet after falling for several stories. Her aura absorbed the impact, causing dirt to shoot up around her. Her hair extinguished itself, flames fluttering down about her shoulders, but she nourished the warmth her aura brought, basking in its glow for a little while longer.

"Time to say goodbye." She muttered, heading towards the barracks door. Benighted citizens of the Imperium though they were, she'd miss the friends that she made. _If they find out I'm a psyker, I hope they don't think poorly of me_. She sighed. Caolin, with his scarred smile, Rhain, with his fatherly airs, Mael, with his rockets and his joyful, silent laugh. And Ros with… Ros with…

"Ros?!" She cried, seeing the woman in question approaching the barracks. Accompanying her was a large, broad-shouldered man, with a tall peaked cap. They neared her. Ros seemed nervous about something, but the Commissar's strides were long and purposeful.

"Sir." Yang said, standing straight and saluting him. _Killing a warboss or not, you'll be damned if you get any more respect from me. Asshole. _But why was he with Ros?

"Is this her?" He asked the red-head.

"Y-yes. This is her." Dark, beady brown eyes searched her.

"As you were, Trooper." He said to Yang, raising his bolt pistol to her head and squeezing the trigger.

* * *

**A/N: Well, Book Two is starting off with a bang! Ah? Get it? Anybody? No? Ugh, philistines, the lot of you. Yang would appreciate it. :3**

**So yeah, sorry for the shorter chapter. I couldn't help but end on that cliffhanger. I hope you guys liked this chapter! Do you guys have thoughts? Predictions? Particularly vehement opinions? Drop a review, and let me know!**

**Speaking of which, this story has officially eclipsed Time to Say Goodbye, as my most reviewed/faved/followed story! Wow! Thank you so much for sticking with me this far! You guys are seriously the best. And we're just getting started! ;)**

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	10. In Passing, We Achieve Immortality

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to wonderful man, without whom, you guys wouldn't be reading this. Rest in Peace, Monty Oum.**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 10: In Passing, We Achieve Immortality-**

_"I met a traveler from an antique land…" – Ancient Text from the Dark Age of Technology, unearthed on Terra in M32.222_

Yang's head snapped back from the bolter shell, her aura saving her life.

The round struck the ground behind her and exploded. She hit the floor. Pain. Pain _everywhere_. Taking reeling, gasping breaths, she stared up at the stars, which swam and danced in front of her. Her semblance was activating slowly, hard-pressed from such sudden force.

Blood. She tasted blood. The Commissar stood over her, glowering. Shock and surprise seized him when he realized she was still breathing.

"How are you still alive?" He gasped.

"You _missed_." Her leg swung around, ripping his feet out from underneath him. With an 'oomph!' and gust of breath, he fell, bolt pistol clattering across the street. She could feel her aura now, pumping rapids of light that coursed through her like a surging river. She dove on top of him, ready to paint the street with his brains.

A boot burst forward before she could, smashing into her stomach. She shrugged it off, still advancing towards the Commissar.

"Witch!" He bellowed, surging towards her. His fist flew towards her face, but she pushed it aside. Years of training with aura-enhanced individuals gave her an incredible edge fighting against those who could not bring its power to bear.

A fist slammed into his armor, her fists denting the officer's cuirass. Sailing backwards, he crashed onto the street, groaning. He spat a tooth out, blood trailing from his lips. She kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling across the ground.

"I'll teach you to shoot me in the face, _asshole_!" He caught her next kick, pulling her to the floor with a powerful hand. The bolt pistol was within reach, and they struggled for it, blindly battering each other for control. With a roar, Yang smashed her forehead into his nose, feeling it break under the strike.

He rolled in agony, spitting and cursing, blood streaming from his nostrils. Yang reached for the bolt pistol, but the Commissar managed to kick it away, sending the heavy lump of metal towards the stunned and speechless Ros.

Swaying, he stood, wiping away the blood that fell onto his shattered armor.

"I'll have your head, _witch_."

"I'm a brawler, bitch." She growled. "Try and take it." He obliged, swinging his fist around. Yang blocked it with her arms, stopping the fist dead in its tracks. Roaring, she stepped forward, blasting him in the chest with a well-aimed punch. He flopped over, hitting the ground as dead weight. Groaning in pain, he tried to stand, and found that he could not. Yang drove a foot into his ribs. He rolled over, but otherwise did not make a sound. She spat out the blood that was filling her lips. Bolter'd done a number if it managed to do that much before her aura deflected it.

"Well fought." He didn't reply. Ros did.

"Yang." She said, voice tremulous and uneasy. The bolt pistol was in her hands, leveled squarely at Yang. One shot, and she'd be blown to bits. She saw the training vids. Death by bolter shell -pistol or otherwise- was not a pretty way to go. She had her aura for now, but she wasn't sure how many more rounds she could take. Ros could at least squeeze of four before she could wrench the gun away. Four was too many.

"Easy, Ros."

"Why? Why should I be?!" She cried. "You fucking liar! You were a psyker the whole time! You _lied _to us, Yang! You were my _friend_! _Our_ friend." Yang wanted to be angry. Wanted to hit her until she understood this was just as scary for her. All she felt was pity for her friend, brainwashed into zealotry.

"Ros. I'm telling the truth. I don't know for sure if I'm a psyker or not, and I was just going to turn myself in to make sure." It wasn't a total lie. She needed to be sure. Ros hissed, the bolt pistol edging closer.

"Yeah right!"

"It's true. Please Ros. Take it easy." She stepped forward, but Ros jerked, steadying her weapon.

"You stay right there. Witch!"

"I'm sorry, Ros, please, I don't know for sure, and I have to find out. What if I'm not?" Her boot rang against the pavement, one step closer to Ros. "What if I'm not a witch? Do you want my blood on your hands?"

"I-" She started. "I'm willing to take the risk. You think I didn't notice? You think I'm a fucking idiot like Caolin? You think I didn't see your hair glowing? I saw you get shot by that ork, and I saw you take that punch in the fighting ring. Hell, the Commissar just shot you square in the face, and here you are, without a scratch on you! No regular human can walk away from shit like that. And that heavy bolter? You think I'm supposed to believe you can just pick that up no problem?" She took a deep breath. "You're a witch. And I'm going to kill you, right here, right now." Ros sucked in a deep breath, trying to steel herself.

"Koris-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" She howled, tears pricking at her eyes. "Don't you fucking _dare_ bring him into this!"

"I don't think he'd want you to shoot me on just suspicions." _Accurate though they are…_ "He loves you. And… I promised you I'd bring you back to him. I'm still gonna keep that promise. Just please. _Please_. Please don't pull that trigger." Ros was crying, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"They're not just suspicions! I _know_ what I saw!"

"Ros, you have to believe me. I would never lie to you!"

"Don't make me do this, Yang." Ignoring her fear, Yang gave her a radiant smile.

"No one's making you do anything. I wasn't lying when I said I was going to turn myself in. So let's leave asshole over here to stew for a bit," She said, jerking her thumb over at the unconscious Commissar, "and go see the Colonel." She put her hands up. "Ok, Ros?"

"Why." She blubbered. "Why can't I pull the trigger?"

"You're a good person Ros, I know it. _You_ know it." Something clicked within her, her dark brown eyes flashing bright before fading away. The bolt pistol fell, hanging low at her side. Her fingers loosened and it tumbled to the ground, metal clanging against the pavement. Yang stepped forward, and wrapped her in her arms.

"It's ok. Let's go. Right now. We're going to HQ, and I'm going to turn myself in, Ok?" Ros nodded, sniffling. "And hey, if you're right, I'm gonna make sure you get all the credit for capturing me. Sound good?" Ros wiped her eyes.

"Yeah. Please, I… don't make me regret this, Yang. I want to believe I was just seeing things."

"You won't. I promise you, Ros." Separating from the embrace, Yang wiped away her own tears. "Let's go." Throwing an arm around her, Yang led Ros towards the 111th's HQ, where a ship would take them to the dreaded Black Ship that hung over their heads.

* * *

Ros sat quietly in her seat, not saying much as they rocketed skyward. She had been very close to blowing Yang's head off, and it was a stroke of unbelievable luck that she'd managed to talk her down. They'd sent command into a panic when they marched into H.Q. and handed them a psyker suspect. Yang pretended to be far more wounded than she was, attempting to bolster her friend's reputation. She stumbled and spat blood every chance she got, before they bound her in chains and threw them aboard a Valkyrie. Someone had the balls to press a seal of some sort onto her chest, hot wax sitting warmly on her stomach. But for the sake of her life, and the lives of a billion others at stake, she bit down her rage.

"Comfortable?" Yang asked, hanging upside down next to Ros. They hadn't unchained her since departure. Ros didn't answer. _No wonder she was so sullen when I was trying have fun last night. _Yang thought. _Must've been mulling over her theory even before they announced the rogue psyker! Clever girl_. They left atmo, and the sensation of blood rushing to her head faded away. _Whew!_

Through the window behind the dozens of masked, black-clad guardsmen training enormous lasguns on her, she watched the Black Ship draw near. It dwarfed the _Ascendant Dawn_, which hung in orbit beside it. Yang should have felt fear, but her decision to turn herself over had brought her nothing but cheer and relief. _Soon, I'll free this galaxy from the terror of Abaddon. And they'll thank me for it._ _I'll be like a rock star!_

"So, what's the Inquisitor like?" She asked the guards. They didn't answer her, which didn't come as much of a surprise. "I mean, I've heard stories, sure, but in person? They've gotta be pretty scary, right?"

Their captain strode forward, sinking to his knees to come face to face with her.

"Pray to the Almighty Emperor she does not find you guilty. For if she does… recall your weakest moments, your worst mistakes, and your darkest nightmares. She will rip them from your mind and lay them bare before you… and laugh while you weep tears of blood."

Yang swallowed. _Good feeling's gone._

"I've watched her do it, too." He continued. "None of them protest their innocence. They die screaming, guilty to the last." He poked her forehead with a thick, armored finger. "I will pray for you as well, little girl. I hate cleaning up my Lady's messes."

A few chuckles from his fellows.

"Be glad she wants you alive. My Lady likes to be assured of her victories, and does not trust your… _interrogation_ to anyone else."

"C'mon Darron, don't make her shit herself." Another (female?) trooper quipped. At least, Yang thought she was female. Their armor was extremely bulky, and they all wore those white masks, which she found oddly familiar.

"Does that answer your question, Witch?"

"Close enough." She replied. Ros gave her a sympathetic glance, which was a victory in her book. She shifted in her chains, trying to wiggle a little more breathing room into them. Not the most comfortable of trappings. She itched. _And what was that about ripping things from my mind? Do mind readers exist here? I mean, we have aliens, giant super-humans, giant, __**evil**__ super-humans, and space travel via inter-dimensional seas of emotion. Sure, why not. Mind-reading's more plausible than half of that shit anyway._

"Darron, right?" She asked the captain.

"_Captain_ Darron, Witch."

"Captain Darron. Those are some cool lasguns. You soup 'em up?" He appraised her coldly.

"These are Hellguns… powerful gifts from the Adeptus Mechanicus. I wouldn't dare tamper with their holy art." _Ah. Well, so much for conversation._

"Keep the Witch quiet, Captain." A red-robed figure added.

"Yes, Lord Ira. You heard the man." He growled at her. "No more talking." Yang shrugged, as much as she could bound in chains and hanging upside down… in space.

The shuttle docked after twenty minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence. They turned her around and dragged her out of the bay, ordering Ros to come with. Yang took deep, steady breaths. _This is it. Here we go._

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor paced around the interior of her office. Only one day after she ordered the 111th to aid her search, and they bring her a suspect. _No doubt that fool Longinus attempting to placate me._ She'd thought. But as soon as Ira confirmed they landed, she sent a psychic probe to the cargo bay, and the surge of psychic power pulsed back, huge, unerring.

_That blunt dunce actually managed to do it._ _I don't know how, but he did it. First his commanding officer, and now a rogue psyker_. She chuckled. _The man has talent for flushing out corruption!_ Perhaps Longinus had some skill as an Inquisitor. A small smile came to her lips. Normally, a being this powerful would be marked for instant death, but the sheer power had come to intrigue her.

Her microbead buzzed.

"My Lady. Do you require assistance with the psyker?" The voice said, humble and smooth. She pondered the thought. Twenty kasrkin, Ira, and herself should be enough to deal with the psyker, however monstrous its power. And it was imperative her Ace in the Hole remained concealed. Only herself, Ira, and Captain Barnes knew of his presence, and the fewer the better. She trusted her kasrkin implicitly, but Longinus would be present as well…

"Remain on standby outside. I will hail you if there is trouble." The Lady Inquisitor did not take risks. At the first sign of trouble, the psyker would _die_.

"Yes, my Lady. Good hunting." The voice snapped off. She checked her inferno pistol. Good to go. She wasn't the type to whisper prayers over it like some ignorant peasant. The Adeptus Mechanicus were skilled with technology, yes, but marred their knowledge with mysticism and airs of occultism. She was an Inquisitor. She'd seen the warp, she practiced magic of sorts, and the Mechanicus dealt with neither. Only ignorance.

Her power sword was a different matter entirely. A simpler construction, it required neither extensive cleaning nor intensive maintenance. It was her steadfast companion, and had claimed the lives of many heretics. Ira hailed her.

"We'll be there shortly. She's an… interesting case, this one." Muffled, distant, she heard a strained 'I heard that!'

Psykers were often interesting people. A touch of the warp can change a person irrevocably, in manners unknowable. Even among the most zealous, pious psykers, one would find eccentrics. Ira would learn this, in time.

A rapping at her office door.

"Colonel von Israfel for you, Ma'am." Chera said.

"Let him in."

The doors swung open to reveal the officer. He was considerably less fearful today, and fitted in his finest uniform. A large smile played across his face.

"My Lady Inquisitor, I come bearing gifts!" He spread his hands wide. The man's enthusiasm amused her.

"So I've heard. Perhaps I was wrong to speak so harshly of your regiment yesterday. I am very pleased with your performance, Colonel." He flushed, bowing deeply.

"They are a hardy breed, my Lady. Stocky and strong. It appears they have the noses of hunting hounds as well!" She laughed, a clear, crisp sound.

"Indeed! I have confirmed it; you did indeed find the correct individual. She is on her way here now, as we speak." He nodded.

"The witch, believe it or not, came of her own accord, after some persuading by her friend."

"Indeed." Now this was interesting. If she came willingly, she could be used. And to have such a powerful asset under her control… The Lady Inquisitor beamed. "I am glad to hear it. Now please, remember this: whatever comes through that door, you _must_ be prepared." He stood ramrod straight, folding his hands behind his back.

"I will not fail you my Lady." _Good. Because I would gladly trade your life for the worst of my kasrkin. And I'd hate to see what happens once _they_ fail._

She turned, facing the window that streamed in artificial light. _Soon, I will deal with this and be off to the front_. Her fist tightened around her power sword. _And then I will come for you, Abaddon. I will find your agents, your spies, every iota of your defiling touch. And I will purge it from existence. _She had already called for her Chamber Militants. The _Scythe of Morning_ would rendezvous with the Order of the Sacred Rose in but a week's time, and then… then, she would stamp out Chaos as a child crushes insects.

_And I will laugh. _She beamed, a true and honest smile.

"We have arrived, my Lady." Ira called.

"Enter." The doors fell open. She turned to face them, and her face was wiped clear of any joy. Holy chains bound the pskyer tight, a purity seal latching itself to a tank top that strained under the weight of a considerable chest. Her purple eyes shot open upon seeing her. There was no mistaking it: Yang Xiao Long had returned from the dead.

The Lady Inquisitor Weiss Schnee screamed bloody murder.

* * *

**A/N: This is something I've had planned from the very beginning, and something I wasn't planning on doing until much, much later. Thankfully, I realized putting this twist off was fucking stupid, so here it is, in all its shama-lama glory. That decision has made the story (IMO, at least) at least 150% stronger, and I'm pleased with the result. But. But.**

**But.**

**I was so excited. I was counting down the days until I posted this chapter. I know quite a few of you probably saw it coming. I'm sorry if it didn't live up to the hype, but honestly, I don't care. It was such a fun cliffhanger to write, leaving on such an awesome last line (almost like a mic drop).**

**I wanted to cackle with glee as you (those who were blindsided by the twist, that is) completely lost your shit that Weiss Schnee is here too, that Weiss Schnee is an Inquisitor.**

**But I can't. Not anymore. The excitement for this reveal that I have been plotting for months has evaporated. In its place is a well of sadness and loss that will forever taint RWBY and all its affiliated works. Monty Oum has passed. My heart goes out to his family, and to everyone who knew him.**

**Thanks to him, I've had so many wonderful moments over the past two years. I've spent so many hours plucking away at my stories, each and every second a tremendous blast.**

**I just wish we had more time with you, Monty.**

**We all do.**

* * *

**I'm sorry this chapter was so short. Also, for the first (and only) time, there will be no review replies. Just know that I love you guys for reviewing. Please, please know that. It means so much to me. I wish I could answer you guys with my usual gusto, but today, I'm just not up for it.**

**If you want/need a question answered _immediately_, PM me or hit me up on Space Battles or Sufficient Velocity. Otherwise, just leave a review, and I'll get to you in the next chapter.**

**Thanks again guys. You rock.**


	11. The Shrouded Beacon

**A/N: Sorry about the extended cliffhanger, everyone! I was very busy, in addition to being violently ill.**

**Special thanks this chapter goes out to 'Reads by Lamplight', who recc'd this story on TVTropes. Thanks again dude, you're the best!**

**Without futher ado, here's Chapter 11!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 11: The Shrouded Beacon-**

_"There's nothing feeble about my moral line. I value life. That is why I fight to protect it. I mourn every man I lose and every sacrifice I make. One life or a billion, they're all lives." Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt_

Yang's eyes went wide when she saw the Inquisitor. No. No, that was _impossible_. The scar over her left eye was gone, but the glacier-melt eyes and snow-white hair did not lie… Weiss Schnee stood before her, clad in the regalia of the Imperium, resplendent in the armor of an Inquisitor.

Her teammate.

Her sister's partner.

Her friend.

Weiss Schnee screamed.

Instantly, dozens of weapons whined and hissed, waiting for the Inquisitor's word to wipe Yang from existence. Recovering from her surprise, Weiss panted and heaved, staring at Yang under her wide-brimmed hat.

"Say the word my Lady, and we shall leave her but a cinder." Darron growled.

"Don't. Touch. Her." She spat. "Begone! All of you. Unbind her and _begone_!"

"But my Lady-" The red-robed man started.

"**_LEAVE_**." Weiss roared. With her breath caught fast in her throat and unable to think, Yang felt the chains that had bound her slip off her skin and clatter to the floor. With extreme haste, the guardsmen, Ros, and the Colonel bolted from the room, shutting the door tight behind them.

"Emperor be praised." Weiss whispered. "Yang… Yang is that you? Or have I gone mad? Tell me Yang, are you a ghost?" Tears welled in her blue, blue eyes.

"It's me, Weiss. It's really, really me." She wiped away the tears that were spilling from her face, blinding and unrestrained. "I promise."

They embraced, holding each other as tight as they could. No words passed between them, just tears and a crushing hug. Weiss was the first one to pull away, beaming and red-faced from her joy. She took Yang's face in her hands.

"I-I don't believe it!" She cried. Yang wiped away the salt rivers that streamed from her violet eyes. "It's really you!"

"It's really me, Ice Queen." Yang wrapped her in her arms again. They laughed and wept, reunited by a miracle of time, space, and perhaps the nebulous realm of the Empyrean. She pressed Weiss' head into her shoulder, shushing her friend's sniffling. "It's ok, Weiss." The Schnee scion laughed.

"Yang Xiao Long! I truly cannot believe it!" She exclaimed with a brilliant smile, one that fell almost immediately after it appeared.

"Weiss… what's wrong?"

"Yang… you _died_."

"I… died?" Weiss nodded. "I couldn't believe it when I heard… It was two years after Ruby passed. They found you in an alleyway, surrounded by White Fang corpses. They…" She took a deep breath. "They found you with your neck slit open. Oh, Emperor." She whispered, pressing her face into Yang's shoulder again.

Yang was speechless. The words coming from her friend were astounding. Fantastical. _I… died?_ She focused, trying to remember everything about her arrival on Woadia… dimly, she remembered a few details.

"I know how… after Ruby died… you…" She couldn't bring herself to say anymore. A deep, rattling breath.

"I know. I regret it already." Every day since arriving in the Imperium. "The last thing I remember doing was drinking in some old dive bar in a bad part of Vale."

"The Wooden Chestnut." Weiss breathed.

"Yeah, that's it."

"That's where they found your body. You killed your attackers Yang, but… Golden Throne of Terra! I've seen some fucked-up things in my life, but you _brutalized_ those faunus. There was this one… a deer faunus I think…"

Yang's half-remembered dream came back in full force. The faunus at the bar! He'd led her out and his buddies fell on her when she was drunk! _Holy shit_!

"I… I died." She said, not believing the words that came from her mouth. Weiss nodded,

"And yet here you stand." _This is insane. I died. _She fell into the nearest seat, panting. Her hands seemed far away. Remote. Like puppet-arms, the strings that bound them unseen but suffocating nonetheless. A realization struck her.

"You're here too. Weiss… how did you die?" The Inquisitor sat down as well, pouring herself some wine with trembling hands.

"I… Emperor, I don't remember. I must have though. Is that how this works?" Half of her drink disappeared, throat working as she slurped at her glass. "The last thing I remember was preparing for an expedition before…" she waved her hand around, her fingers trailing aimlessly through the air. "Blackness." They were silent for a moment, before another thought came to Yang.

"Ruby." Yang whispered. Weiss' head snapped up, her eyes locked squarely with Yang's. "Ruby could be here. She could be _alive_, Weiss."

"I-" Her lips worked, trying to find purchase. The hum of the air filters was almost deafening. "Holy God Emperor and the Thousand Saints of Terra. You're right." She downed the rest of her drink.

"Weiss…" The Inquisitor removed her hat, resting it on her high-backed chair. Her eyes were red and wet, shining under the hateful lights. "We-"

"No." She replied, regretfully absolute.

"No what?"

"We can't go looking for her."

"Weiss-" Yang tried, fingers tightening on her armrest.

"We _can't._ We have responsibilities. A Crusade to defeat. I know how much you want to see her again, and I promise you, I want the same thing. Perhaps even more desperately than you." This gave Yang pause. She knew of Weiss' affections for her sister. At the time she'd discovered them (their second year of Beacon), she thought it was cute, if a little odd given the age gap and all. But now, the memories gamboled in blood, wallowing in self-pity and fruity drinks.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"We will find her. After. Even if it takes the rest of our lives, we will." Yang nodded, a small grin on her face. Weiss was soon smiling as well. "It's good to see you Yang."

"It's good to see you too, Ice Queen." Weiss chuckled at the old nickname, pouring herself more wine.

"Now you have to tell me, how'd you get to be an Inquisitor?" This was unbelievable. Weiss Schnee, that bratty, entitled, powerful, wonderful woman was right here. Within arm's reach. And to think she'd given up on ever seeing her friends again.

"I should start with the basics. But know we are short on time. Our 'chat' will not be beyond my retinue's suspicion. It is best if we keep this short."

"The basics then." Weiss nodded, leaning forward.

"I'm a hundred and twenty years old, Yang. At least, I think I am." Her jaw dropped. _Impossible, _was her first thought. But the fact that she was even _speaking_ with Weiss was something she'd have thought impossible ten minutes ago. _Never mind the whole 'suddenly appearing in the Imperium' business!_

"Shut your face, Ice Queen. You can't be a day over thirty." She said. Weiss turned the glass around in her hand.

"Rejuvenation treatments and other assorted techniques have kept me in a very slow aging process." Yang took this in, her breaths slow and measured. "And I… cheated, in a way."

"Weiss… what happened to you? I mean, what the _fuck_?" She took a deep breath.

"Yang, I didn't just appear here, garbed in the finery and power of an Inquisitor… I awoke in a pile of rubble on Tanith Nova after a raid." Her eyes locked with Yang's. "I was ten… or close enough to it. The last birthday I remember on Remnant was my sixty-first. Almost fifty years of life had been returned to me at the drop of a hat."

"You're shitting me."

"I most certainly am not. I was found by the local PDF. I was lost and disoriented and I demanded to be taken back to the Schnee Dust Company's Headquarters." Yang laughed a little. She could picture a ten-year-old Weiss planting her feet on the ground, ordering around guardsmen twice her size.

"They assumed I was the survivor of some famous family, so they packed me off to the Schola Progenium."

"Bless you." Yang said.

"It's a school, dolt." Weiss said, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same. "It was brutal. The punishments were horrific, and the lessons were challenging beyond measure." Yang tried to suppress another grin and failed.

"So you were right at home." Weiss snorted, a so very _typical_ Weiss reaction. It warmed her heart. She was no longer the only Remnant citizen in the Imperium. She was no longer alone.

"I was. I excelled at all of my classes, and I was marked as a psyker when I was seventeen." Yang sat up. This was the whole reason she'd been brought here in the first place. Weiss didn't notice her friend's alertness at first. "Can I tell you how much it sucks suffering through puberty again? Yang?"

"You're a psyker?"

"Yes. Psykers are not well regarded in the Imperium. You know this, considering how you arrived and all." She gestured at the chains. "I was packed off to Holy Terra, where they hooked me up to the Golden Throne and soul-bound me, protecting me from the perils of the warp."

"Wait… the actual Golden Throne?" She knew Terra was real, but assumed all the mumbo-jumbo surrounding it was distorted legends, lost to the veils of time and religious zealotry.

"The very same." Weiss replied. "They plugged so many needles and wires into me, I didn't think there'd be any bare skin left. I still have scars from the bigger ones." Her eyes snapped shut, remembering. "I have never felt pain like that before in my life. I never have, and I suspect I never will again. I felt him, Yang. The Emperor." She did not reply at first.

"You worship him as well." A brief silence.

"How could I not?"

"And do you follow their disgusting faith too? All that horrible shit about killing everyone not exactly like them?" Yang said, knuckles turning white as her fists clenched. The Imperial brand of zealotry never failed to rile her. That Weiss had fallen for their dogmatic philosophies... it did not bode well. Weiss took a long drink.

"Relax Yang. Not to the degree of your compatriots, but yes, I do. There is reasoning behind everything the Imperial Faith espouses." She held up a hand before Yang could retort. "This is a galaxy of unremitting brutality. I have taken countless lives. I have done things that make my father look mild and tame in comparison. Right and wrong as you knew it have no place in the Imperium. Only strength, and the cold weight of numbers. Do I like it? No. Golden _Throne_, I _hate_ this place. But… I push on. Because I think I can change things."

"Can you?" Yang asked, trying to make sense of her friend's words.

"At first, my hopes were dashed completely. Inquisitors lead long and lonely lives, Yang. We are often corrupted by the very things we hunt, and are exterminated in due time. I learned this as an Acolyte, before… well… I cannot say more. Not yet." Her eyes flitted about the room. "But I will say this: there is a brief spark of hope in this dark and twisted galaxy, and your arrival has made that spark catch flame." Her words set Yang's fingers to unwinding, but questions still roiled in her mind.

"I'm still trying to process the fact that you've killed so many people." Yang said. "And your creepy guards said you were a mind reader? Is that true?" Weiss rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Each decision I make is weighed against more lives than Remnant could ever hope to hold. None of them are easy." She took a drink. "None of them wasteful." The words came slowly, as if they needed to be fought for, gained through perilous battle. As for the mind-reading? My kasrkin told you no lies, Yang." She said. "I am indeed a telepath. One of the most powerful to grace the Imperium in centuries." _This conversation certainly took a turn._ Yang thought, now sweating in her seat. _Weiss… what's happened to you_? "I still have my glyphs, of course. But now, my telepathy has become my greatest asset, far more so than my semblance." She placed an armored hand on Yang's shoulder, looking deep into her eyes. "It is a blessing like no other. Yes. I have killed countless people. But I do so only if they are guilty, or pose an astronomical risk." She tapped her temple with her other hand. "Because of this, I _know_ if they are guilty. I protect every innocent I can, at every personal cost. The values of Remnant still live in my heart, even if the Imperium has… changed them." Her words set Yang's troubled mind to ease. Not entirely, but enough to keep her chest from heaving. There had been a simple, sad honesty in Weiss' words. Honesty that reminded her of the brilliant, struggling woman she'd known on Remnant. "I don't know how or why I've been granted this power, only that I have, and I'll use it to its fullest extent."

"I'm… relieved, Weiss. I was afraid this galaxy had gotten to you." Weiss poured more wine for herself.

"It has certainly tried. While I try my best to protect everyone I can, my Inquisitor comrades…" She shuddered. "I murdered that Inquisitor, the other one who was visiting Elodia. He was a sick and brutal man, one that abused the absurd amount of power bestowed upon our kind. While I am plagued with nightmares over my deeds, he slept soundly, without a single care in his small, dim mind. This galaxy champions people like him, Yang. Gives them power, accolades, glory." She stood, drawing to her full (and laughably, still miniscule) five-and-a-half-feet of height in her magnificent midnight armor.

"Yang… will you help me? Will you help me fix this horrid Imperium?" Her hand extended outwards, reaching. Pleading. Yang took it, her reservations thrown to the wind, if only for the moment. She drew her friend into a crushing hug.

"Of course, Weiss." Changed or not, Weiss was still her friend. And changing the Imperium was a goal more worthy than any she had tackled before.

"I am glad. We have much to do." She sat down again, a small smile on her face. "And even more to discuss. I wish we had more time!" Sighing, she shook her head. "You look ridiculous with that purity seal, by the way." In all the excitement of seeing Weiss again, she'd forgotten about the mess of wax and paper stuck to her chest. Weiss giggled as she pulled at it.

"You just giggled Weiss. Should I tell your guards?" Yang felt relief surging through her. _Despite everything, despite what she's done and who she's become, she is still Weiss Schnee_. "How many people can fear an Inquisitor that giggles?" Weiss grinned.

"I'll get it off in five seconds if you never mention it again."

"Deal." She snapped her fingers, and the room felt colder for a moment before the seal froze into ice and melted away, running down her front as pure, clean water.

"Guardsmen wouldn't know a proper purity seal if it jumped up and bit them on the ass."

"Weiss, that was amazing!" She shrugged.

"A parlor trick. You'll learn similar techniques. You are a psyker, as I am. You _reek_ of power, Yang. You have extreme potential, and I'll not see it twisted or corrupted."

"Glad to hear it. Although, I'm really not sure what all this psyker businesses means…"

"Imperial protocol demands I take have you sanctioned, but now, with Abaddon here…" Weiss turned in her seat, looking out the window at the grey orb of Elodia IX. "I'm afraid we don't have the time to use the traditional methods. But There's something else I can have you do."

"Kill Abaddon?" Weiss gave her a cold, gleeful smile, one that Yang had seen many times on Remnant. The Schnee scion had acquired her target, locked on, and was about to deliver a truckload of pain. _No doubt, this is the last sight of many heretics,_ Yang thought.

"Kill Abaddon." Weiss agreed. "In order to start healing the Imperium, Abaddon the Despoiler must die. That might not happen now, but in a century, maybe. Maybe even two centuries. But it will happen, and we will do it together." Yang's fist met her palm, her teeth gleaming with a predatory shine. A short laugh escaped Weiss. "You'll do no one any good spending six or seven years receiving 'proper' sanctioning. In that time, Abaddon could seize Cadia. For now, I need you on the battlefield. With your semblance and training, you can turn the tide of almost any battle."

"Oh, I can do that." She cracked her knuckles. _I _want_ to do that_, she thought.

"But first…" Weiss whirled around to face Yang. "I need to know if you're free of corruption. An unshielded mind such as your own is subject to extreme peril."

"Believe me, I want to tell you I'm not, but I'm not sure if I can." She paused. "I don't even know what kind of corruption you're looking for. You're an Inquisitor, is there anything you can do?" Weiss nodded, her visage solemn as the grave.

"I can look into your mind." Yang stared at her friend.

"You... understand what you're asking, right?" She nodded, apologetic, but without relent. Yang shuddered. The thought of anyone –even Weiss– rifling around in her brain sent cold knives dancing along her spine.

"I do. If we had more time, such a thing would be unnecessary. I am sorry. I don't always ask people Yang… but I am asking_ you_." Yang sighed.

"Hurry up, then." Weiss stared at her for a second.

"You are mostly pure." Yang blinked. _Was that it? That couldn't be it! _"Chaos has trained its eye on you, and you've faced the dangers well. Tell me, do you suffer during Warp travel?" Yang nodded. Weiss stood and approached her, resting an armored hand on her shoulder. "This will be extremely painful, but you must bear with me. For Ruby's sake."

"Weiss, what-" Weiss brought a knife into the soft skin of her shoulder. The tip worked like mad, inscribing words and glyphs into her skin while her lips murmured prayers and incantations so fast, they blurred with uncanny speed. Yang shrieked in sudden pain, and the wound on her shoulder flashed a bright yellow, searing her skin with a howling agony. Her mind begged her to give up, to succumb to the reeling pain. Another part of her demanded she send Weiss flying for inflicting such torment upon her. In the end, she bit back her screams and suffered the torture. For Ruby's sake.

"All done." Weiss said finally, wiping sweat from her brow.

"Weiss, what the _fuck_?!" Yang screeched, doubled over and clutching at the steaming wound.

"It's a purity seal, of sorts. It will help keep the worst of the warp's touch at bay, at least until we can get you to Terra. I've always been good at devising them, despite most of my colleagues encountering troubles." Smoke billowed through her fingers, and Yang dreaded what she would see once she pulled them apart.

"That was horrible! _Fuck_." She breathed again. Slowly, her hand left her shoulder, and words in an unreadable script stared back, punctuated with holy images and the ubiquitous Aquila. The flesh around it was red, but the inscriptions themselves were sharp and black. She sent a pulse of aura through it, and the markings shone a shimmering gold, dimming the pain and filling her with a sense of ease.

"I've combined it with my aura-based spells. It's the very best I can do, seeing as we're pressed for time." Yang stared at her blankly. "It's too much to explain at once. Now come!" Her duster swirled and flapped behind her. "Hurry! My retinue will soon assume something is amiss." Yang sprinted after her, clutching at her shoulder. Weiss' armor hissing and whirring, she took Yang to a room barred by many seals and wrought iron doors. Shouldering it open, she revealed a bevy of the Imperium's finest weaponry. After a minute of searching, she threw an Imperial Guard Pattern power sword at Yang, sheathed in a black metal scabbard.

"From my personal stores. I know swords aren't really your thing, but Ember Celica will not be enough. Not anymore." She paused, her eyes clouded and downcast. "This galaxy knows horrors you can't even imagine." Taking the weapon, Yang appraised it with awe. She knew power weapons were exceedingly rare, and Weiss foisted it upon her like it was disposable trash.

"Thank you! This is… wow!" She said as Weiss slammed the doors shut.

"You'll need it. Here." She rummaged through her pockets, producing a microbead the size of a thumbnail in her palm. "Take this as well. I'm requisitioning your regiment to be my personal guard."

"Weiss-" Yang started, but she held up her hand.

"I want you to be my… representative of sorts. It will keep us in contact, and work to allay suspicions about our talks. It's flimsy for now, but it will have to do. It has to." She wrapped Yang in a large hug. Everything was unfolding so fast, it was lot to take in. Just holding her friend though… it was wonderful. "A freak occurrence brought us together, and I will be damned if we separate again." With a sweep of her arm, she donned her hat, tucking her long white hair away. "I need you in the trenches. To keep fighting. Emperor knows… _I_ know you wouldn't be anywhere else. Just. Don't. Die." She produced a large platinum seal, a menacing skull set in the center of an 'I' and surrounded by a white-gold snowflake. "Inquisitorial order." Yang smiled.

"As you say, Lady Schnee." Weiss rolled her eyes.

"Now quickly!" She urged. "We mustn't let them think something's amiss. We still have much to discuss, and I will seek you out as often as I can."

"I missed you Weiss." The Inquisitor stopped in her tracks.

"I've missed you too, Yang. Now there's no more time to waste. Be seated." Yang took her seat at the front of Weiss' desk, new power sword across her lap.

"Ira, could you bring everyone inside? The issue has been resolved." The doors swung open, and Weiss' host of guards returned, accompanied by Colonel von Israfel and Ros.

"Holy Terra, she's got a sword!" One of the guardsmen cried.

"Stand _down_, Captain Darron!" The man's eye twitched, but he obeyed. "There has been a grave misunderstanding. Trooper Yang Xiao Long is no psyker at all." Yang swallowed. Whatever Weiss had up her sleeve, it was ballsy. Longinus stiffened. _This is the closest I've ever been to our Colonel_, Yang thought absentmindedly. "Despite Trooper Ros Sigfriedottir's valiant attempts, Trooper Yang was merely suffering side effects of combating a Traitor Marine during the assault on Woadia. I have since rectified the issue. Trooper Yang? Your seal?" Yang obeyed her friend, pulling back the sleeve of her tunic. The inscriptions were not shining, but still drew shocked stares from the assembled parties. The grimm-masked guards relaxed when they saw the tapestry of symbols. Slowly, the barrels of their hellguns fell to face the floor.

"I heard of her exploits on the field, Colonel." She said, turning to face him. "She is an exemplary warrior, upstanding in her conduct at all times, and fiercely pious. She's slain a Traitor Marine single-handedly, and helped rout the ork horde only a few weeks ago. For these reasons, I've deemed it prudent to purify her, instead of resorting to the easier path of killing her. I have also given her a weapon of incredible might. Use her wisely, Colonel. You have a powerful asset under your control." He nodded, adam's apple working. Yang wasn't pleased about the mind-reading thing, but she gave Weiss a grudging respect. Her manipulation of events and information was simply masterful. _Truly, she makes an excellent Inquisitor_. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Now, I must speak with Colonel von Israfel. Trooper Ros, I must also applaud your critical thinking and swift action in this situation. We were all deceived, but nonetheless, I am exceedingly grateful. You did the right thing." Ros bowed low, unable to form words. "Trooper Yang, Trooper Ros, you are excused. Darron, Ira, stay with me. You must heed my coming orders."

As black-clad guardsmen escorted them from Weiss' office. Yang was still in shock, barely holding on to her new weapon. A maelstrom of emotions whirled within her, surging and brawling for dominance.

_I died._

_I'm a psyker._

_Weiss is alive._

_Weiss is an Inquisitor._

_She read my mind._

_I died._

_Weiss is an Inquisitor._

_I __**died**__._

* * *

"I must thank you again, Colonel. Even though the results of our hunt were unexpected, they were nonetheless favorable."

"It… um…" He stumbled, looking for the right words. "It was a pleasure, my Lady."

"I'm glad. I expect great things from our future cooperation." His fingers bounced off each other, nerves aflame with worry.

"Ah… future… cooperation?" The Lady Inquisitor beamed.

"But of course, Colonel. The incident with Trooper Yang has given me a brilliant idea. I'm very impressed with your Woadian Rangers. They've managed to defeat an ork horde with minimal losses, and sniff out the barest scent of corruption with speed not even my fellow Inquisitors can boast."

"You honor my humble Regiment, my Lady."

"And for these reasons I have decided: I am requisitioning the 111th Woadian Rangers as my personal task force for the duration of Abaddon's Black Crusade. Taint and blight fester and grow like weeds in the chaos of war, and my humble retinue cannot serve me as extensively as may be required. You shall be my hammer and shield, to protect me and my presence and strike at my numerable foes, wherever my duties take me." He fell to his knees.

"My Lady… I am… I am _unworthy_." _You are not unworthy, nor particularly exemplary, no matter what I've told you, you are simply… adequate._

"On your feet, you humble fool. I am doing you no favors. The road ahead of us is fraught with dangers. Even so, we shall do our best to bring victory to the Imperium." He stood. "Have your regiment paint their armor black, and redesign your standard to feature my personal rosette."

"Of course, my Lady. It will be done."

"I've commissioned Trooper Yang to be my personal representative in the regiment. She is to hold no special office, given no extra honors. Instead, she is to serve as my eyes and ears within your rangers. I will call upon her frequently."

"Yes my Lady." His mind roiled at this, but he bit down his protests for now. Good.

"I will give you further instructions as we near the front. Gather your men, Colonel. We are off to war." He saluted and started to stride away.

"Oh, and two more things before you make your leave. One, Commissar Daniloft has had a frightful accident."

"Anton?" Longinus said in a small voice.

"Yes. Bring him to me at your first opportunity, and ignore everything he says. Second, I expect absolute obedience. Any sign of hesitation or doubt will be swiftly excised. Just like dear old Colonel Crassus." Longinus' face lost all its color, and his eyes went wide. He backed away from the Lady Inquisitor, nearly tripping over his own feet. He sprinted from the room, coattails fluttering behind him. Her kasrkin chuckled, before stifling the noise with a cough.

"I suppose that was a bit harsh of me." The Lady Inquisitor sighed. "Now go, prepare for Warp travel." She kicked her vox-caster, stomping on the transmitter pedal.

"Captain Barnes?"

"Yes, my Lady?"

"Ready the engines. We make for Cadia!" Her kasrkin roared, hoisting hellguns high into the air.

* * *

Later, when her guards and acolyte had left her, the Lady Inquisitor pondered the day's events. _Weiss Schnee… how long since that name has passed someone's lips?_ Yang's arrival was complicating beyond measure, but a gift without compare. She opened so many doors previously thought closed, and carried on her shoulders the wherewithal to aid her quest in fix the rotting Imperium of Man.

Personally, however, seeing Yang had disturbed the Lady Inquisitor's sense of balance. She had not wept once, not in her fifty years in the Imperium. In mere seconds, she had been crying like a swaddling babe over the arrival of a friend she had once thought long dead. She scanned her friend's mind the second she saw her, to be certain it was not a masterful work of witchery. _Forces beyond my comprehension are at work_, she thought. _I must tread with care_.

However, besides the telepathy, she had not lied to her old friend. A reminder of her true home had shocked her to her core. Yang was a reaffirmation of everything she sacrificed for. She was grateful for the rush of pleasant memories and reminders of her life on the quaint world of Remanant. It brought a glowing warmth to her heart, one that she long thought lost in her life.

And the possibility of other Remnant citizens living in the Imperium… Her heart seized tight in her chest.

_Ruby._

_Ruby._

_Ruby_.

The thought was a prayer, a constant thrum of hope that coursed within her. _Ruby. I loved you so much it hurt, and when you died…_ The Lady Inquisitor's face fell in her hands. It had been years since Ruby Rose had visited her mind. She'd locked away the memories to shut away the grief, but now with the possibility that she might yet live, lost in the vastness of the Imperium… the thought ripped the old wound open, to bleed anew.

_I will find you, Ruby, at any cost_. The thought was so fierce and so strong it lashed and writhed within her mind. It was unsettling. There were other matters to attend to, no matter how desperately she wished to drop her duties altogether and scour the galaxy for her lost leader. That she had even considered doing so brought her pause. _You are an Inquisitor, damn it!_

"What's the matter with you?" She whispered. _Weiss. Your name is Weiss Schnee, and you are from Remnant. You fell in love with your leader, and she died. Her sister became a drunken outcast, and fell prey to the knives of terrorists._ _Now, she stands before you, poised to change history._ _Yang._ _Yang Xiao Long._

Yang was an interesting individual. Disrespectful, fiery, flirtatious, and wielding an unhealthily belligerent disposition, she was a blessing, but a risky gambit. And the Lady Inquisitor did not take risky gambits. She prized efficiency and surety above all else. Every day, her life was balanced upon a razor's edge. One mistake, one miscalculation, one erroneous assumption, and her life's work, the work of her recongregationalist brethren, centuries of patience and labor would all be lost.

In this matter -even if the matter involved friends from her forgotten past- there would be no errors. Her excitement and joy over their reunion and thoughts of Remnant faded away, replaced by the frigid reality that beset her. Yang was a friend. A good friend. Maybe the first one she had since arriving in the Imperium. She regretted what she must do, and feared it would be necessary, but practicality demanded it. Too many lives were at stake. Her decades spent sacrificing and agonizing would not be undone thanks to a rediscovered sentimentality.

"Come." She spoke into her microbead. As she waited, she pondered her actions today. _If Yang performs as expected, however_…

A being of shadow slunk into sight, borne on the backs of stealth and inhuman patience. Lithe and powerful, her Ace in the Hole appeared. Amat the Vindicare Assassin stood before her, exitus rifle clenched tight against his shoulder. His knee sank to the metal floor, a perfect killer bound by humility and deference.

"My Lady." He rumbled, his voice marred by the ivory mask all assassins bore. "How may I be of service?"

"We will soon be deep in the throes of war. Abaddon marches on Cadia."

"Give me the word, and he will die." She shook her head, approaching him. Laying bare his mind, she found everything in order. Perfect, unwavering focus, tempered by a spark of unorthodoxy… the same spark that lived within the heart of every member in her retinue. The Imperium breeds robotic, unthinking minds, and no progress could bear fruit in such a stagnant state.

"Your skill is unquestioned, but even your mighty rifle cannot bring him low. Your task is one of a very different nature, but no less important."

"I am yours to command, My Lady." She traced a finger up the sinews of his neck, pulling at his chin so that his hidden eyes met her own.

"Keep watch over Trooper Yang Xiao Long. She is a powerful psyker, and if she should fall to chaos, you are to terminate her with extreme prejudice."

* * *

**A/N: She's seen some shit. We'll touch upon exactly what later...**

**Also, I realize that not all psykers are sanctioned via soul-binding, but The Lady Inquisitor's tutor made an exception.**

**So, questions, comments, concerns, criticisms? Writing The Lady Inquisitor is very challenging, so I understand if there's a few issues with her. For the most part, I hope this chapter goes over well.**

**Which reminds me: Holy ****_FUCK! _****Last chapter got 29 reviews, which is more than I've ever gotten on any single chapter ****_ever_****. You guys are awesome! I'll try to answer most of them here, and I'm sorry if I missed yours!**

**Review Replies:**

**Zedicus: Glad you liked it! And yes. Still a broken up about it. :(**

**The Walrus of Eden: I hope this chapter answered some questions! Glad you liked the twist!**

**RT Reader: Inquisitor Weiss was something I envisioned since the beginning, and I'm glad to see the reception has been positive. I did what little I could to honor Monty. Such a shame.**

**Reality Deviant: :D ... :(**

**Firem78190: Well... little column a, little column b.**

**Coolname222: That means a lot. Thanks a lot, bro. :)**

**Coduss: I find that to be... unlikely.**

**giodan: I'm glad I helped, in what little ways I could.**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Thank you so much!**

**Bear of Cali: It's amazing how diverse the response to the 'twist' was. One one hand, a lot of people were 100% correct in their predictions, and have been for some time, while some others were completely blindsided!**

**OmegaCloud696: Hehe. :)**

**Flibbly Moonbeam: I'm glad! :D**

**Guest: Thanks for the smile. I really needed it at the time. :)**

**Crimson Heresy: Woot! Mission accomplished!**

**OBSERVER01: Well, we'll see, won't we?**

**blitzxs: Well, we'll see, won't we? hahaha :D**

**TheSpawn117: Well we'll see, won't we? (Emperor, this is a useful comment!)**

**Burn2Cinderz: Nope, as you might have ascertained by this chapter. I was really surprised by how many people latched on to the 'alternate dimension' theory, both here and on SB/SV.**

**Graybiel: The ivory hair was a necessary evil: I knew mentioning it would tip off a ton of people, but not mentioning it left her image woefully under-done.**

**Snoogenz: It was resolved rather quickly, thank the Emperor!**

**mr I hate znt nobles kill em: It all remains to be seen!**

**Nemris: You can make your rules now! Yang just needed a little bit of an equipment upgrade.**

**CV12Hornet: Hahaha this was the kind of reaction I was looking forward to! :D**

**Ethorian: Is that... a good thing?**

**dksamuri: Thanks!**

**Blinded in a bolthole: Thanks for all the reviews!**

**the metaphysical god of heroes: Hahaha I feast upon your impotent tears! :D**

**Chris Adair: Check out the RWBY - Yellow Trailer to get a good picture of Yang. So glad you like the story!**

**exillion: Yup! :D**

**Shewp: Damn! I'm honored! :) I'm thrilled you're enjoying it so much!**

* * *

**Wow! Thanks so much for all the reviews! Keep 'em coming, guys! It only gets crazier from here on out!**


	12. Voices in the Warp

**A/N: Good news, everyone! A World of Bloody Evolution has a TV Tropes page now! All thanks to MrTerrorist, who is super-special-awesome. **

**Alright, no brakes on the RWBYhammer 40k train! :D**

**Let's go, people!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 12: Voices in the Warp-**

_"Buckling under the weight of the Despoiler's accursed warships, the Imperial Navy could not contain the splinter fleets that slipped through its defenses. Free from censure, these corsairs reaved and pillaged to the content of their foul hearts. Like all evils, they were shattered against the will of the Emperor's faithful. But they were not repulsed cheaply." – From 'An Account of the Forty-Second Millennium', unknown author, who is presumed to be an Astartes_

Remnant.

The day they buried Yang Xiao Long was bright and sunny, as befitting the young woman they laid to rest. Patch was a good as place as any to bury her, entombing her within the rolling hills and shaded glens of her birthplace seemed appropriate. Her gravestone was a simple thing, a slab of black onyx stone with a bright yellow heart engraved upon it.

It had been a small affair, her funeral. Even now, the last of the mourners shuffled away, clad in blacks that seemed alien to the resplendent summer day they inhabited. Two remained.

Blake Belladonna, long since bereft of tears, sat silently before the grave of her best friend, her bright yellow eyes rendered puffy and bloated by grief. Weiss Schnee stood beside her, the last two remnants of Team RWBY, the White Knights of Beacon Academy. To anyone who saw them there, they would not assume more of them than 'close friends of the deceased'. No one could mistake them for the heroes that saved Remnant from the greatest danger it had faced in centuries.

"I haven't spoken to her in a year, you know." Blake said, knees stained by the loam of her friend's grave. Yang Xiao Long. 343AW-365AW. Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend, and Guardian of Remnant. Weiss knew.

"I know." She said, her hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"She was drunk, mumbling something I couldn't even understand." Blake choked on a sob, but the tears would not come. "That was it." A deep breath rattled in her chest, hitching in her throat in stuttering gasps. "It's my fault. I should have-" Weiss shook her head.

"There was nothing more you could have done." That was a lie, one told for sincerest of purposes, but a lie all the same. They could have stopped Yang's descent, hunted her down and salvaged her from the depths of her despair. Could have. Didn't.

Ruby's death had hit them hard, Yang the worst of all. Weiss still loved her fallen leader, still wept over words not shared and roads not taken. But she stood once more, rising to the challenge she'd been born to, refusing to succumb to what her teammate had become. She had a purpose, after all. Yang had not been so fortunate.

"We should go, Blake." Weiss said, careful not to rush her friend. Her hands worked the ribbon of Blake's bow, the straps unfolding to reveal her ears. The faunus girl didn't move. Slowly, she removed it, curling it within the palm of her teammate. "It's time to say goodbye."

Nodding, Blake's hand caressed the ebony stone before casting her bow into the wind. She never wore another one.

* * *

The procession that left the Lady Inquisitor's office was silent, a column of soldiery that crawled through the steepled halls of her Black Ship. Yang's head was pounding, a hammer and anvil that did not relent for a single moment. Facts that were clear as day lay before her, but they seemed as monstrous and alien as the orks she'd slaughtered mere weeks ago.

It was so much to take in, all at once. Yang felt her fists clenching as she tried to make sense of it all. She failed. Her shoulder ached, Weiss' glyphs seemed to burn through the tunic cloth that covered them, a searing, holy brand. She clutched at it, hoping the pain would recede. One of the guardsmen noticed, nodding at her behind her sheer white mask.

"Our Lady's blessing. We all bear it." She said, pointing to her own shoulder.

"You have one of these too?"

"All of us who serve Her do. It's not a traditional blessing by any means, but it's one we appreciate. It is a daily reminder of our duty, and brings us comfort." She paused, unsure how to continue. "I can't describe it exactly. It just feels… warm."

"The Emperor protects." Yang replied, offering the woman a common Imperial platitude, hoping she'd let her stew in her thoughts for a little while longer. It was a hopeless pursuit.

"Look, Trooper Yang. My husband and I have been with the Lady Inquisitor for almost twenty years. I've come to know her quite well. She doesn't put her faith in many people, and her deciding to trust you means you are a promising individual. For the sake of the Emperor, don't misplace that trust." _I'd certainly hope she trusts me._ Yang thought, with a dark chuckle. _I've known her since she was seventeen… for the first time. _She shuddered. Just _thinking_ about it felt weird. The mysteries of this place kept building, kept piling atop one another like corpses on the battlefield. _What of Blake?_ She wondered. Her best friend was probably here too, and the thought gave her pause. She'd barely thought of Blake since arriving in the Imperium.

Guilt burrowed itself in her stomach. _I'm a terrible person_. After Ruby died, she'd shut away too much of herself, took too much of her life for granted, keeping it stored away for that nebulous time when she'd 'feel better'. _Blake, you better be here too. I don't care if they call you a mutant, I'd burn whole planets before I let them touch you._

After leaving her behind like she did, she owed her that much.

Resurfacing from her thoughts, Yang did her best to listen to the black-clad woman as she continued to ramble about Weiss, but it was difficult. She did not seem accustomed to speaking at length. The guards dumped the two rangers in front of a shuttle, the bulkhead doors opening with a grinding metal screech, shocking Yang from her reverie. Greeting them was a voidborn pilot, long and lanky in his pilot's uniform.

"Sorry ladies, but we're waiting on Colonel von Israfel. We'll be off as soon as he arrives."

"Thanks." Ros mumbled, after Yang said nothing.

"Serviceman Chung." The man said, extending his hand. Ros met it. He winked at them. "I have a feeling we'll be acquainted soon enough. The Lady Inquisitor does not bestow her gifts lightly." Chung said, nodding at Yang's power sword. "You must be one of her new favorites. I'm just the one who flies her everywhere," he said, kicking at the floor, "but do I get a fancy sword? No sir, no way."

"What use would you have for a sword?" Yang said, resting her new weapon on her shoulder.

"I… uh… good point, Trooper." He coughed. "Excuse me. Pre-flight diags to run." They settled into their seats, soft leather welcoming them with a muted hiss. This was nothing like anything the 111th had. It felt more like a private jet than the simple and barebones landers the _Ascendant Dawn_ bore. Ros shuffled in her seat, trying to avoid her gaze. Pushing aside the maddening spin of her questions and musings for a moment, Yang nudged her friend.

"Something wrong?"

"Yang… look…" Ros said, hands intertwined. "I'm sorry about turning you over like that. I betrayed you. Holy Throne of Terra, I almost _killed_ you!" She sniffed, trying to keep tears from falling. "All because of a misunderstanding. I can't… I can't imagine what would have happened if I killed you. I…I don't think I could have lived with myself."

"Ros." Yang whispered.

"I... I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much." Yang pulled her into a crushing hug.

"It's… ok. You didn't know. _I_ didn't even know. Don't beat yourself up over it." She put on her most convincing grin. "I think what we _should_ worry about is a very angry Commissar." Ros paled.

"Holy Emperor. I nearly forgot. Yang, you destroyed him."

"You guys beat up a Commissar and you're both still alive?" Chung asked, head poking out from behind the door to the pilot's cabin.

"Is it too much to ask for at least one private conversation?" Yang growled.

"I serve under an Inquisitor. Eavesdropping has become a habit." He said, wearing a weary smile. "Sorry. I'll… fuck off." Before shutting the door, he stopped. "Although, if you assaulted a Commissar and your reward is a power sword, rest easy, the Lady Inquisitor will put your fears to rest." He winked, and the metal door slid shut with a hiss.

"Just… who _is_ this woman?" Ros asked.

_Weiss Schnee,_ Yang almost answered.

* * *

Commissar Anton Daniloft dabbed at his split lip, blood soaking the linen rag between his fingers. His armor was cracked and splintered, and one of his eyes was swollen shut, pulsing an angry purple. This was Yang's work, no doubt about it.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I fear the witch did quite a number on me." The Lady Inquisitor gave him a radiant smile.

"You did your best." _Considering who you fought, you did damn well._ "You are a brave man, Commissar." The man had fought an ork warboss, and lived to tell the tale. In all honesty, Weiss was more shocked about him surviving Yang. He had not lied once in his recount. The Lady Inquisitor detested most Commissars, finding their habit of killing their soldiers repugnant and cruel. She saw this man had performed ten such executions, and regretted every one. _Good. He is usable._

"Look Anton, I'm sorry about this. You deserve better."

"About what, my Lady?" With a psychic thrust, she possessed him, rooting him to the spot as he screamed a dull, toneless note. Blood spurt forth from his nose, leaking into his open mouth. Her cursory inspection of the man had been accurate, and further mental spelunking recovered little else of note.

Ripping the memories of Yang from his mind, she smashed them into oblivion under the heel of her power. She left nothing, not a single strand of golden hair for him to remember. He screamed and screamed, his mind pushing feebly against hers. It was like pebble trying to hold back a tsunami. His pain was palpable, thrashing and searing hot. She retreated for a moment.

"Commissar, are you unwell?"

"I…" He recovered, blood still leaking from both nostrils. "I seem to have spaced out for a moment. Where am I?"

"You were recovering from your clash with the warboss."

"I was recovering from my clash with the warboss." He intoned.

"You fought admirably."

"I fought admirably."

"I am congratulating you for your service, and returning you to your posting."

"I am accepting an Inquisitor's congratulations, who is returning me to my post.

"You won't be performing any more executions."

"I won't be performing any more executions."

He stood and left, feet scraping and hobbling over the floor of her office. His coat swirled behind him, tattered and bloodstained. Releasing her hold on the warp, she sat back in her chair. She sighed. Despite her sheer power and the guiding surety of her aura, it took an enormous amount of concentration to so fully immerse herself in the mind of another. Her stomach turned as well, roiling in protest at wiping his mind clean like a data-slate.

The Lady Inquisitor poured herself some wine. In a few days, her newly-formed task force would make their departure. She had already contacted her astropathic choir, sending word to the Cadian defenses about her arrival. Preparations and restocking took time, and she hadn't expected to find the rogue psyker so quickly. She was on-schedule, but frustration still ate at her.

_Abaddon._

_ Heretics._

_ The Amalathians._

_And now Yang Xiao Long_. The friend she'd given up for dead long before she shoveled the dirt over her grave. Her life would have been simpler if it had been anyone else from Remnant. _I would have preferred Ruby, of course, but I will make of this what I can. Yang's sheer potential cannot be understated. And if my designs come to fruition…_

For a while, she dreamed of a re-united Team RWBY, fighting under together once more under the banner of the Imperium. It was a glorious, wondrous dream. Her kasrkin officers knocked on her door after an hour. She let them in.

"I've seen Commissar Daniloft to his shuttle." Darron said. "He seemed unwell."

"He's had a frightening experience on Elodia." She sipped her wine. "Think nothing of it. We're entering the Warp soon. Steel yourselves. Our truest test awaits us."

* * *

Working her way back through the _Ascendant Dawn_, Yang felt Ros' eyes on her. After a few hours of watching the stars pass by, she'd managed to sort her mind out into something resembling order. Now, she wore a large smile. _I have a chance fix things_. She thought. _The Imperium, and the results of my own stupid, selfish despair._ Things were looking up.

"You okay, Yang?" Ros asked, appraising her with worried eyes. She laughed, beaming at her friend.

"Yeah, I'm good!"

"Does your shoulder hurt?" She asked. Yang rolled her shoulder, feeling the burning skin stretch and contract.

"Yeah. 'S going away though." She said. Ros clapped her on the back, careful to avoid agitating the markings.

"I'm so relieved you're not a psyker. Now you have a power sword too!" She gave a low whistle. "Can't wait to watch you kick some ass with that thing."

"Neither can I!" They chatted awhile before returning to barracks 0914, and Gamma platoon. It was nice to see Ros being her usual self. When they finally arrived, she nodded at the door.

"You ready?" Yang grinned.

She kicked the door open, sending the bulkhead slamming against the inside wall. "Guess who's back!?" Shocked cries burst forth, washing over Yang in a tide of jubilation. Mael was the first to reach her, crushing her with a silent embrace. Caolin picked Ros up, swinging her around as she gave a squeal of protest.

"What on Holy Terra were you two up to?!" Rhain bellowed, shoving aside their curious comrades. He appraised them both, hands on his hips, suspicion furrowing his brow. "We heard Yang was a psyker, and you were taken to the Inquisitor!" Ros stiff-armed Caolin, holding him at arm's length.

"It's… Rhain, it's incredible! Yang… she's not a psyker at all! She was just suffering residual warp effects from killing -get this- a _traitor marine_."

Suddenly, silence. A pin drop would be deafening.

Mael performed the sign of the aquila, and Rhain's beads worked through his fingers at lightning speed. Yang laughed, breaking the quiet.

"She gave me this as thanks." She hefted the power sword. "And this," she added, rolling up her sleeve, "to purify me completely." The mark elicited astonished gasps from the soldiers, who looked upon the holy writ with undisguised awe.

"Easy there!" Yang said, waving away the shocked looks. "This is just Wei- The Lady Inquisitor's seal! In case you didn't hear, she's taken charge of the Regiment. We're to be her sword during the Black Crusade!" Ros slammed her heel into the barracks floor.

"Àuh! Praise the Emperor!" Gamma platoon mimicked her movements.

"ÀUH! PRAISE THE EMPEROR!" They bellowed, their feet raining against the Ascendant Dawn's hull. Jorvis stormed towards them, chomping on a fat cigar. His red eye twitched and whirred, flickering between Ros and Yang.

"Well fuck all kinds of duck. You're alive." A puff of smoke. "You," he waved at Gamma Platoon, "leave. I need to speak with Trooper Xiao Long." They obeyed, albeit reluctantly. _Very _reluctantly. "You too, Corporal Firecrotch." Ros huffed, stomping off after the rest of her comrades.

"What is it sir?" Yang asked, giving him an enthusiastic salute. Nothing could ruin her mood. _Weiss Schnee (__**Weiss Schnee!**__) is an Inquisitor, I have an awesome sword, and we're off to stuff a boot up Abaddon's ass_.

"I don't care what title the Inquisitor gave you. My word is still law, and if you get all uppity and have a problem with that, then you're going to have a problem with me. You are still a Trooper, Yang Xiao Long."

"Of course sir! Honestly," She kicked at the floor and gave her sergeant a wide grin, "I wouldn't be anywhere else." It was the truth. Leadership was her sister's strong suit.

"Glad to hear it." He took a deep drag of his cigar, knocking the ash onto the floor. "Although with that thing on your arm, and that shiny new sword, you will soon become the moral center of our platoon. I can't stop that from happening, no more than I can get you to shave that ridiculous hair of yours." Yang shrugged. He was right about the hair, no matter how rudely he put it. "So play the role. They will fight harder -and live longer- with you at the forefront of the battle. Those are your standing orders, Trooper Xiao Long." She saluted.

"Sir, being in the thick of it is my specialty." He grunted.

"So I've seen." Jorvis stalked off, closing the bulkhead behind him. Before a single second could pass, her comrades once again surrounded her, pouring questions upon her

"So what was the Inquisitor like?"

"What did she say to you?"

"You killed a _traitor marine_?" She raised her hands, shouting above the clamor.

"Easy, guys, _easy_! One at a time!"

"The traitor marine!" Rhain bellowed. "How'd you do it?" Yang sighed. She'd avoided mentioning the incident to her friends before, as Hilde's head had been on the monster's trophy rack. It was still an uncomfortable subject. She recalled Jorvis' words about keeping their morale up. So she smiled instead, cracking her knuckles.

"I punched him in the face." Rhain's jaw dropped. "Really hard." More questions assaulted her.

"You're definitely not a psyker, then?" Asgeg asked, her blue eyes raking over Yang, suspicious and fearful. Apparently, Ros' word wasn't good enough.

"I'm not." She said. Their faces broke into grins at this, pleased to hear her say the words herself. Yang giggled.

"She certainly doesn't drink like one." Ros said. A few laughs. Yang wrapped an arm around her, who turned to address the crowd. "I can tell you about the Inquisitor though. She's an incredible woman." _And an old friend of mine. _Yang thought. "No matter what we face in the future, she'll have our back, as long as we have hers. We're gonna see some scary shit, but it's our job now," she raised a fist, "as part of the Inquisition, to purge it all! With holy fire, we will descend upon Abaddon, and the forces of will come to know our names, know our deeds, and fear the black-clad warriors of Woadia!"

Yang hollered in glee, clapping her friend in the back and raising a fist in the air. Gamma platoon echoed her cry, their voices resounding throughout the _Ascendant Dawn_, strong and proud.

* * *

It had been two days since meeting Yang. Her retinue and newly acquired regiment had been stocking up for battle. The Lady Inquisitor had requisitioned a squadron of tanks from the Elodian PDF, who had made pious noises at her, delighted to offer their services to an Inquisitor. Ten Leman Russ MBT's, and several Chimeras, each stocked with enough shells for two months of campaigning. During those two, agonizing days, she'd felt an itch under her skin, red waves of hatred and contempt for Despoiler filling her mind. Now, finally, they could depart.

However, hours before departing for Cadia, the Lady Inquisitor's astropath choir received a burst of communication so thick and fierce it nearly killed them. They howled and lashed, forcing her to break open their minds and flood them with peaceful, calming images. The messages themselves made little sense to her however, as only fully-trained astropaths could completely decipher the warp-noise of superluminal communication. Her soul-binding had not been enough to give her such talents.

Her foot tapped impatiently while they recovered, sipping at recaf and shaking.

"Well?" The first one, Wind-Through-The-Valley (Wilver for short), dabbed at his bloody nose with the arm of his voluminous black-fur robes.

"I… I have a magenta-level missive for my Lady from the Lord Castellan of Cadia himself." The other astropaths lolled listlessly at his words, drooling slightly. Wilver handed her a roll of vellum, where he'd etched the message in the skin by his simple hunting knife. He was raised as a hunter on the feral world of Kuwala, and felt a strong connection with his primal roots. So strong was his bond with his homeworld, he found he could interpret messages with astounding clarity when he scribed them upon skins of prey from Kuwala. Wind-Through-The-Valley was her best astropath, rescued from feeding the Astronomican by the Lady Inquisitor herself after sensing his potential.

She snatched the skin from his trembling hands, opening it wide. The writing was scratched and patchy, and most of it was rendered in Kuwalan script, and obscure metaphors, but the Lady Inquisitor deciphered it with ease.

_Lady Inquisitor,_ it read, _I have received word that you are approaching Cadia with a regiment of heavy guardsmen, nine thousand strong. I beg of you, do not. As desperate as we are for men, one regiment of guardsmen will not make a difference. However, I fear a conspiracy is building around Cadia. Many neighboring systems have fallen to Chaos, and at a pace unseen for millennia. I fear the work of a great power. I am not so presumptuous as to give orders to an Inquisitor, but still, I formally request you look into the matter. If you truly wish to aid the defenses, find this threat and eliminate it. The most recent planet to fall is Jala Prime, and is the most likely place to find this growing threat. If my fears turn out to be misplaced, you are welcome to join us on the front lines._

_ Under the Light of His Majesty the Emperor, on his Most Stalwart Fortress, signed Lord Castellan Ursarkar Creed_

The Lady Inquisitor read the message, then read it again. Something was wrong, the last Lord Castellan had been Marus Porelska. Who was Ursarkar Creed?

"This came from Cadia?" She demanded. Wilver sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

"_Directly_ from Cadia." She pondered this. If Cadia could still send messages, it was still holding. _And if this Creed is right about outlying systems falling to Chaos… _

One of her other astropaths, Calista, tugged at her sleeve, mousy and shy. Blind eyes started at the floor, her bright orange hair folding back into her black and silver-trimmed robes.

"Ma-Ma'am. R-reports from outside Cadia. F-forty systems have f-fallen, and eighty more are engaged in open r-rebellion." Calista wiped at tears that brimmed around the corners of her milk-white eyes. "There's so many b-b-b-bodies! Oh Emperor!" She wailed.

The Lady Inquisitor hissed, fury seeping through her veins. She'd spent the past forty years uncovering and quashing nascent rebellions and cults across the Segmentum Obscurus. _To have so many fall at once!_ Her stomach turned, and Creed's words of a conspiracy flashed in her mind.

"Where?" She demanded, shaking Calista's shoulders. "Which systems?!" The astropath only wept, shaking her head and pawing at the Inquisitor in a feeble attempt to free herself. "Calista, I need to know!" _Too many Warp-damned years spent trying to fix this fucking place, all to have it go to shit in the course of a week!_

"G-give me a little b-bit my Lady. I need to m-make sense of everything." She hunched over, moaning and pulling her hood over her eyes. The Lady Inquisitor sighed, trying to quell her rising anger. _Poor girl_. _Only nineteen, and cursed with a wellspring of astropathic talent_. The Lady Inquisitor had an idea of what she saw on those fallen planets, and it did not aid her efforts to calm herself. Quite the opposite.

"You!" She rounded on the final member of her choir. Taki was out cold, slow breaths bubbling in a pool of blood-stained vomit. "Oh, Emperor damn it all!" She balled up the vellum report and hurled it at Wilver, who caught it reverently. "Stay on stand-by. Someone take him to the med-bay!" She cried, pointing at Taki. She turned. "Captain Barnes!"

The man scrambled forward, hurrying off his command throne. He bowed low, causing his captain's hat to tumble off, and his raven-black ponytail to fall free.

"Yes my Lady, how can I help you my Lady?"

"Have our Navigator set change course for Jala Prime, and instruct the _Ascendant Dawn_ to do the same!"

"Right away, my Lady." Barnes stooped low to retrieve his cap, fixing it on his head while he bellowed orders.

"You heard her! Re-adjust course immediately! Someone get Captain Nylund on the horn _yesterday_!"

The Lady Inquisitor stormed out of the bridge, boots hammering the metal floor. This Creed had the right of it, damn him. Darron and Chera won't be pleased. _Cadia will have to wait. Duty has called me elsewhere._

_ Damn,_ she thought, slipping into her office. _When was the last time I slept?_

* * *

A glass cage held her, suffocating her, strangling her in its indifference. Yang hammered at the plated glass with Ember Celica, each strike useless and pitiful. Not a single scratch, nothing, nothing nothing nothing at all.

let me out let me out i can't breathe in here

She was a bug under a microscope, twisting, writhing, speared to her dissection slide. The light around her burned her, boiled away what little oxygen remained. Her surroundings beyond the cage were black and all-consuming.

Red. It filled her vision, towered over her prison. Red like **_roses_**. No, no, not like Ruby, it wasn't Ruby, wasn't the good red, huntress-red. She snarled.

those are her colors, she hollered as laughter bubbled forth from the darkness, a laughter that shook her, shook her to _pieces_.

The other members of Team RWBY stood over her, grief pulling their features tight. Weiss' hand traced over the glass, sad, just too fuckin' sad! They couldn't hear the mad laughter oh no, no they couldn't. They would be running if they could.

A mirror-Yang stood with them, clasping hands with her teammates. Her little eyes went wide as the laughter blared, and they shrieked as the red swallowed them whole, the warp-maw of a deity beyond her comprehension.

Yang screamed until flecks of blood spattered across the glass, torn loose from her scorched and shredded throat.

* * *

Yang awoke, swimming in sweat-soaked sheets and sucking in reeling, gasping breaths. Her nose was bleeding. Springing from her bunk, she dashed to the bathroom, hurling her shitty nutrient-gel dinner into a stained and filthy toilet. Visions of untold suffering and chaos assaulted her, mass graves full of half-eaten corpses, wetted by cesspools of gore and fetid, rotting limbs. They were garbled and spotty, but no less gut-wrenching.

Her fist hammered against the stall, ringing loud in the empty washroom. Vomit spilled forth once more, and the glyphs on her shoulder pulsed an angry, polluted gold. _Focus Yang. Aura. Aura seems to work. _Taking deep breaths through her nose, she rested against the door. The murderous impulses came back too, taking advantage of her weakened state. She battered them away, fighting tooth and nail as she focused on the image of Ruby.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, and the redness faded away, washed away in wave of yellow light. She watched the light seep from the etchings, thanking Weiss with a small, silent smile. They'd brought an immeasurable sense of relief. Wiping her mouth on her arm, she sat back against the stall door.

_Well I know one thing for sure_, Yang thought, _shit has hit the fucking fan_.

* * *

**A/N: A somewhat filler chapter, but wholly necssary. It frames almost this entire arc, and introduces some stuff for later on.**

**Sorry for not going straight to Cadia though. I promise you though, some crazy stuff is happening in the galaxy, and not all of it's on Cadia...**

**What'd you think? Please, please, please let me know! The support for this story has been overwhelming, and I love each and every single one of you guys! Keep 'em coming, I love to hear from you! :3**

**Review Replies:**

**Zedicus101: Not quite her girlfriend! haha Glad you liked it!**

**the metaphysical god of heroes: Hehe your reactions are always fun to read! :D It's good that Weiss left a sour taste in your mouth. She knew Yang for five years... a blink of the eye compared to the rest of her extended life.**

**The Walrus of Eden: Yeah, I was tempted just to give her a powerfist... but come on, you'd have expected that! **

**CryptIXKeeper: You and everyone else hahaha**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I'm pleased you like it! I won't give too much details on the mechanism of their arrival, but it certainly has potential!**

**reality deviant: I love keeping you in suspense! :D**

**snoogenz: Weiss is hard to write for. I'm thrilled you're enjoying her!**

**RED Roman Pyro: I guess we'll see, huh? ;)**

**Bear of Cali: It's got a TV Tropes page now! Go make a WMG section and fill it up! :D**

**giodan: Yuss! Love me some Gaunt's Ghosts!**

**OBSERVER01: Interesting theories! :D**

**TheSpawn117: Agreed!**

**SixPerfections: Wow, thanks for your awesome review! The reunion was tough to write, but I figured the sheer shock of seeing each other in such a hostile galaxy would override any negativity that lingers between them. And yeah, Blake mentions this chapter, with reasoning on why there have been so few. :P The story is about 50/50 on Yang and Weiss from this point on, so I think you'll be fine haha. I'm thrilled you're still enjoying it so much!**

**MrTerrorist: Daw, you're seriously the best. I'm sorry for the mix-up, I fixed it everywhere I could! You rock!**

**Yoshtar: Huh, some interesting theories! I guess we'll see what happens!**

**Gafgar: I'm glad you liked it! It was honestly the first thing I thought of, but the concept grew on me, and I developed the concept to what it is now. Hope you stick with me! :D**

**Nemris: Dude, these are awesome! As for the Lady Inquisitor... I'd suggest drafting some concepts. ;)**

**Kamelnikov: Eesh. Disturbing thought!**

**dksamuri: Doin' muh best! :D**

**Sithslayer78: I would too, but she wasn't on there for too long, so it wouldn't really make sense. Oh well. :P**

**LegionOfMisfits: Holy shit! I'm so flattered! I'm thrilled you like my stories so much. And ditto, if you want to chat, hit me up on reddit, here, or SV/SB!**

* * *

**Damn, I have the best fans. Seriously though. Loving this response!**

**Shit's goin' down next chapter!**


	13. A Spark of the Divine (Omake 1)

**A/N: Attention, all! This is A World of Bloody Evolution's first _OMAKE CHAPTER!_ This means that this chapter is not a direct continuation of the last chapter. It's also NOT WRITTEN BY ME! That's right! A talented man named Winged Knight (of Lovehammer Inc fame) penned this _whole thing_!**

**Enjoy it, it's 100% canon! **

* * *

**The Librarian's Notes**

* * *

**-Chapter ?: A Spark of the Divine-**

Purity was a difficult concept to grasp. In this base, corrupted galaxy how could one understand true sanctity? How could one conceptualize a state of absolute divinity standing alone? By itself it had no meaning. It was merely a word used to give proper duality to the ever-common filth and decay. It allowed understanding of the reality that must be lived in.

It was much easier, instead, to say that certain things represented purity. Concepts could fly beyond the thoughts of those consigned to base mortality, but material things could be conceived and understood in some meager fashion. When holiness is contemplated, thoughts always drift toward the God-Emperor, the Golden Throne and to glorious Terra.

Though, in truth, the woman known as Weiss Schnee doubted Terra was so holy as the legends stated. The home world of mankind held no greenery left, everything was covered with artificial construction. The planet was a smog-choked metropolis, towering architecture built atop the crumbling remnants of ancient structures. Looming statues and murals adorned every wall, displaying events of both historical and religious significance.

These could distract and amaze, surely, but one merely had to scratch beneath the surface to see that beneath the luster to see just how broken things were underneath. Overcrowding led to billions living in poverty, and the sky had long since been covered by smoke that blocked out the sun. The upper echelons plotted and reveled amongst themselves, while gangs ran rampant within the sprawling underhive to war against each other and took what they wanted from the beleaguered populace.

The rest of the Imperium never saw this, or perhaps chose to ignore it. Millions of pilgrims came every year to pay homage and worship to this place of reverence, to look upon the gates of the Imperial Palace and know that their Lord rested inside. It brought them comfort that despite the evils at their borders it could be trusted that the Emperor protects, that here, upon these holy grounds, they might become closer to Him.

Frankly, Weiss didn't see much of a point to it all. It seemed such a waste of time and resources. Weren't there better things people could be doing? Couldn't all this effort go toward helping the Imperium against its many enemies? The enemies at the gates grew always more numerous. To her, it seemed a skewed set of priorities.

But then again, she was far too focused on other things to truly contemplate the matter.

Weiss held back a wince as she felt the sharpened points of the helmet penetrate into her skull. They did not dig too deeply into the bone, merely latching on to her cranium so as to complete the process she was to undergo. Numerous other spikes pierced her flesh, latching on to bone. Each was connected to wires that led back into the wall, following a miles-long trail through the complex. All of this for binding her soul the one hailed as Emperor, as God.

_I'm still not sure how I feel about that,_ Weiss thought as the Mechanicus Adepts bound her hands, feet and torso to the table. She was unclothed, but did not raise a fuss. At her age she knew when concerns of modesty were appropriate and when they weren't. _But then, I've never been much for religion in general._

Despite her reservations, she knew it was necessary. Aura worked differently here, touching upon strange powers she was still growing accustomed to. But even more, her psychic potential meant she had to take precautions, both for herself and those around her. An unguarded mind could be the doorway to… terrible things.

Weiss shuddered. She didn't want to think about that.

There was surprisingly little bleeding involved in the process. Most of the spikes entered so cleanly that there was little room for blood to escape. Though no matter how fine the instruments were, there was no avoiding the pain of multiple stabbings. Which, ultimately, this procedure amounted to.

"Is that really necessary?" Weiss asked as one of the Adepts came up with a gag.

"The process of binding one's spirit to the Avatar of the Omnissiah is not an easy one, child," the woman said in a synthetic voice, her mouth long since replaced with a voxcaster. "There will be pain. This is to ensure you do not bite off your tongue."

"I'm hardly a child," Weiss muttered. She thought back toward her life on Remnant, living to an old age. She'd lived through so much fighting, so much bloodshed. Even more, so much sacrifice. Ruby… "I have endured pain."

"Not like this," the Adept responded. She set the gag and tied it firmly. "Prepare, young one. We begin."

Almost as soon as the words were said, the binding process began. Fire coursed through Weiss' body. Her eyes shot wide as she convulsed, pushing against her restraints. They held fast, keeping her bound to the table. The bindings dug into her skin, drawing blood that fell into little channels and disappeared into the floor. Her back arched as far as it could go, bending with such force she feared she might break it.

The spikes, which had been painful before, were utter torment now. Where they touched it was like ice and electricity seared into her flesh. Worst of all were the ones in her skull. They sent pulses of agony into her mind, shattering her thoughts and breaking her spirit. Weiss tried desperately to hold fast against the torture, but it was little use.

Weiss was burning. Her entire body was afire and her soul was the fuel for the flames. She was dying. She knew it. She was dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She'd thought she could endure this? Had she been mad? She could hardly breathe through her screams, which echoed throughout the room for all that she was muzzled. She couldn't even see any more, the entire world replaced by blackness and torment that would never end.

_They're killing me! _Weiss screamed in her mind even as she wailed through the gag. It was one of the few thoughts she could hold on to. _They're killing me! It's too much! Have to… Have to make it stop!_

But she couldn't. She was lashed to the table. Weiss pushed against her bonds, drew upon manic strength to break free. But it was no use. She was well and truly trapped. As the inferno in her body grew ever hotter, Weiss bit down on the gag to try and end her suffering, drown in her own blood and flee from the torment.

The gag held, denying her the sweet release of death. Weiss would have wept had she the presence of mind to recognize her own mounting despair. Her mind was a roiling tempest, and thinking through it was almost impossible save for those things held at the deepest core of Weiss' being.

Even through the terrible pain, however, a new thought broke through. Thought of a young woman in black and red, with a gentle smile. A smile she'd found so aggravating at first, but had quickly fallen in love with. Just as she had fallen in love with the woman whom that smile belong to. A woman full of life and love and joy, so much that she filled the world with it.

_Ruby... _Weiss thought, holding on to the image of the one she loved even as storm and fury destroyed her._ I'll see you soon, wherever you are._

And then, suddenly, the pain was gone. Weiss stumbled in shock and fell to the ground, panting deeply at the sudden shift. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing entirely just in the memory of the agony she had just escaped from. She dug her fingers into the rocky soil, latching on to anything she could if it would keep her away from being drawn back to that terrible suffering.

For several moments she did nothing but lay there, almost reveling in the absence of pain. The lack of agony was almost intoxicating. No sensation could ever be so sweet, so wonderful as to be free of that nightmare world that had hurt her so. Weiss shuddered in place, glorying in the sensation of freedom.

The fog in her mind lifted as she blinked tears from her eyes, and as clarity returned, Weiss realized what had occurred. She sat back and lifted up her hand, drawing the soil. She wasn't in the Soul Binding room…

She stood up and whirled around, looking upon a clear blue sky above a sea of green. Clean, fresh air assaulted her senses, not the ever-present pollution of Terra. The difference was so great it almost made her gasp, and when she fully took in the view she could not restrain even that.

Weiss was standing atop a rocky outcrop above a forest of towering trees, a beautiful sight so different from the crumbling metropolis of Terra.

A forest she remembered…

"The Emerald Forest?" Weiss muttered, her bewilderment growing. "But, that's impossible!"

"Yours is a beautiful world," a deep, tired voice said from the side. Weiss turned, and saw an old man sitting down to look at the forest below. "It reminds me of my home, many years ago."

Weiss studied the figure. He was a tall man, but stooped with age even as he relaxed. His long, dark hair was stained with gray, and his features were like rock weathered from storms and time. Even still, there was strength in his bearing, nobility to his countenance. Though he had obviously undergone many burdens in his life, he seemed to bear it with stoic aplomb.

That raised her opinion of the man, if only slightly. If there was one thing Weiss could appreciate, it was enduring hardship without undue complaint. Something she'd had difficulty with as a young woman, but had come to value now.

Even still, she kept all her attention on him in case he tried anything. She _refused _to let herself be distracted by her apparent return to a home she thought she'd never see again. The potential threat before her was more important than something that may or may not be real.

"Who are you?" she asked, years of experience allowing her to rein her emotions tight. She would not give anything away if she could help it. "How have I come here?"

"I could ask much the same of you," the man replied, glancing at her with dark eyes. "But in the spirit of fairness, I shall answer first before I pry into your affairs."

He stood, and Weiss saw that her initial observation had been correct. Though the man loomed over her, his back was bent from age and strain. Weiss got the impression he used to be a much more powerful figure, strong and unyielding. Obviously that strength had waned. But such was just the nature of long life. Something Weiss knew very well.

"I have had many names," the man said. "But you would not know them, and they are lost to time. So I will answer to the title I am best known in this degenerate era." He straightened a little, though this obviously caused him pain. "I am the Emperor of Mankind."

Weiss blinked, stepping back in surprise. "What?"

"Normally those who undergo the bonding process simply shut down from the pain and awaken later," the Emperor continued, ignoring Weiss' stupefaction. "But you are strange enough that I believed a closer examination to be a more productive use of our time."

The Emperor stepped forward, and behind him formed an image Weiss recognized. It was Headmaster Ozpin; smiling gently as if listening to some joke only he knew the punch line to. But for all that, he was frozen in time, lifeless for all the warmth that shone through his expression.

Another step was taken, and Glynda Goodwitch appeared as the Emperor passed by. She, likewise, was unmoving. The Emperor took several more steps, bringing yet more people from Weiss' past into existence. They all stood with the same expressions they held in life, as if ready to move at any moment. Nostalgia and homesickness wrenched at Weiss' heart as she saw them, so shocked she could not even speak.

And then, finally, the last three appeared. A tall girl appeared with golden hair, grinning broadly, ready to take on the world. Another with a stoic face framed by black locks, aloof and reserved. They were dear friends, and sorely missed.

And finally…

Weiss' heart stopped. Ruby was there, just like she remembered. That smile, exuberant and open. Those grey eyes, so full of innocence and joy. Everything and more she had fallen in love with, so long ago. A rambunctious charm that had overpowered her loneliness and showed her that life could be more than just holding up to an image. That affection for another could exist. That there could be happiness.

Weiss took a hesitant step toward Ruby, reaching out with one hand to touch her cheek. The girl's face was warm… It was as if she was truly alive, and not some illusion brought forth by this old man. Weiss wanted to kiss her, something she had never had the opportunity to do in life. Would it feel true? How would she know?

She made no motion to check.

"Why have you done this?" Weiss whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"To understand," the Emperor responded. "You interest me greatly, Weiss Schnee. You have a destiny upon your shoulders, one that has held fast against grief and despair."

"You have no idea how much you've hurt me, showing me this doll with her face," Weiss whispered. She still did not take her hand from Ruby's cheek.

"I fear I know all too well," the Emperor said, his tone suddenly weary. "And I am sorry. I truly am. You are a powerful woman. Your very presence could pose a dangerous risk to my Imperium." He waved a hand at the world, taking in the multitude of figures that now shared the hilltop with them. "I am glad to see that is not the case."

"How could _I _be a threat to your rotting empire?" Weiss snapped, finally turning to confront the man. "It's doing a fine job of destroying itself." She stepped closer to the man, snarling. "Discrimination against its own people, rampant abuse from those in power against those who have none? Wars unending against horrific enemies, even while those generals clash with each other when they should be helping people? What of all the aliens you could make alliances with, or at least truces? Not to mention horrific mismanagement that costs _billions _of lives every day? And you have the gall to violate my memories to see if _I'm _a threat?"

"Yes," the Emperor said softly. "Because I must. For those who still live, I must."

"How dare you?" Weiss whispered, her voice rising. "What right do you have to judge me? You have uncountable worshipers praising your name every day, believing you will protect them! How many die in vain, while you sit here amongst this crumbling edifice?"

"Too many," the Emperor said, the admission cutting off Weiss' retort. The man looked at her with sad, weary eyes. "So many that even I cannot know the full measure of it. My sight is lacking, for all that I am worshiped as a deity. I cannot even protect my own people fully from the depredations of the Enemy, or even their own selves." He snorted wryly. "Oh Uriah, if you lived you would no doubt be laughing at me. But only to keep from weeping."

"You don't know?" Weiss asked. "But… How could you not? You radiate like a beacon to the deepest depths of the galaxy. I felt you like the sun, once I knew how to look. How would you be unable to know all the horrors that go on in the society you built?"

"I did not build this," the Emperor whispered. "I built something grand and glorious, shining like gold. But now…" He shook his head. "After so many millennia my mind is… fractured. I could not sustain the entirety of my being, so I broke. Pieces of me wander, observing and acting as they will, sustained by the anchor I hold sitting upon the Throne." He looked away, and the images around them faded. "I don't even know what I know any more. So much has been lost to me."

Weiss opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead she stayed silent and observed this stooped, fragile old man. He was hailed as lord and god of this empire she had found herself in, but he just seemed so _tired._

How much pressure did it take to shatter someone like this? How many failures did one have to live through for their mind to crumble and break away? Weiss couldn't imagine it, could not even conceive of the pain the Emperor must have suffered. What he must be suffering even now, as he spoke with her. It was both heart wrenching and inspiring, still being able to stand even in this small way after all the trials he had endured.

The anger died in Weiss' heart. She wanted to reach out to this man, to comfort him somehow. It would be enough if she could take on even a fraction of his burdens. But what could one do for a man already so beaten and worn? Her solace was thousands of years too late. The Emperor was beyond what Weiss could provide.

But even still, she had to try.

"Have you just given up, then?" she whispered. "Will you just let these evils go unpunished?"

"I will never give up," the Emperor responded quietly, turning back to her. "But there is little I can do. All that is left to me is to hold the line against the Enemy as best I can, and hope that humanity can achieve enough power that even a remnant might survive the storms to come." He said with a small, sad smile.

"No," Weiss said, shaking her head. Her tone held no accusation, however. "No, that isn't good enough. Your people are too fractious, too disorganized for that. If you only defend, then your Imperium will be broken away piece by piece until nothing is left."

"There is no other option available," the Emperor said. "No one person, no group left, has the ability to unify and direct my people. I must hold on to hope that humanity can pull itself up from the mire it has become."

"That is cowardice!" Weiss shouted, making the Emperor blink in surprise. "To just stand back as things crumble, and hope without direction or plan? Foolish!" She held a hand to her breast. "If you can't, then _I_ will! I will save your rotting Imperium, drag your people from the depths of their wretchedness! I will make this galaxy _better!"_

The Emperor studied her, eyes unblinking. Weiss stared back, her gaze firm. She respected this man. How could she not, after realizing just how much he had suffered for his people? For all that she despised this corrupt society she'd found herself in, that someone would suffer so much for the sake of others was something she found laudable.

But what she could not abide was the utter defeatist attitude he possessed. She could empathize, surely, could understand why he held it. To go so long being unable to directly intervene, having his mind broken from his torment, was more than anyone could bear. But to refuse to see any other option when it was presented? That could not be tolerated.

"No one person can save this Imperium," he said, repeating his earlier statement. "But perhaps…" He stepped closer, looming over Weiss. "You are one not beaten down by this horrid galaxy, untainted by the ignorance so pervasive in my people. If one such as you were to direct them, to lead them toward something better?" He nodded. "Yes, I think that might just work. But you must realize that you will suffer greatly in the attempt, will have to do terrible things in order to achieve this vision."

"I will do what must be done," Weiss said, standing firm. "For the sake of billions uncountable, I will save this Imperium."

"Very well," the Emperor said as reality began to shift and fade away. "Go then, Weiss Schnee. I charge you with repairing this broken shell of what I have wrought, of what I hoped to achieve. Drag humanity toward the light so that they may accomplish their destiny, to grasp the stars that shine so far away."

Weiss opened her mouth to respond, but as she did the world vanished entirely. All that was left was blackness, darkness so absolute that she could not see anything at all. The void encompassed everything, and left her alone in a world without shape or form. All was nothing, and she felt her consciousness begin to vanish within that darkness.

And then, a tiny flicker shone in the distance. It was small, and pitiful. But in that gloom, it shone like the sun. That tiny bundle of light approached Weiss, brought illumination and thus solidity to thought and form. She cradled that light close, brought it to her heart where it sank into her flesh and joined with her soul. It was His gift to her, protection from the horrors that would consume her very being.

It was a piece of Him, and with it they were bound.

She awoke to a terrible ache that suffused her entire being. Exhaustion clouded her thoughts, and she barely heard the tech priests chittering in their strange language as they unbuckled her and set aside some clothing for her to put on. She could not speak, for her throat was raw and ragged from screaming. Her body was a wreck, held up only by her will and the aid of the adepts who gently coaxed her up.

Even her thoughts were muddled, and she could recall nothing save brief images and flashes. The clearest thing she could remember was golden light, and of someone so terribly weary. But Weiss had nothing substantial, nothing solid in her mind. The agony of the binding process left little to her.

But her feelings… those were crystal clear, despite the lingering pain this ordeal had wrought upon her. She wanted as she always did, to help people. And with the Imperium there were so many who needed aid. It would be the task of years, decades and centuries. But even still, she would not falter. She smiled as she was led to a place where she could sleep and receive medical attention for her wounds.

There was a connection now. She felt a kinship, a bond on a level she could not describe. Could it be with the man known as Emperor? It was faint, and yet at the same time infinitely deep. Comforting power, glorious and golden, rested within her chest. No, even deeper. It lay within her soul itself. A spark of the divine, perhaps.

A spark that would one day give rise to an inferno. A spark of purpose, a spark of hope. Her arrival in the Imperium was no accident. Now, she had a task, and it was time to get to work.

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**A/N: Thanks again to Winged Knight, who wrote this omake! If you liked this, you can check him out on SpaceBattles and Sufficient Velocity! So, if you have specific comments about the writing of this chapter (like how awesome it is), remember to address him instead of me! Otherwise, if you have theories/ideas, post them as usual! Don't forget, there's a Wild Mass Guess page on TV Tropes that looks a little blank for all those threads I've left hanging... ;)**

**I know a lot of you are like... "whaaaa?" About the Emperor just popping in like this, but believe me, there's reasons for it. There's reasons for everything! :3**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: No hints as to who's showing up and when! Are you not a fan of the Blood Ravens then? haha**

**Giodan: Thank you!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Oh believe me, it is going down.**

**OBSERVER01: Interesting ideas! We'll see how it turns out in due time...**

**Thespurgin: Thank you so much for your awesome review! I'm not so sure about Yang joining up with the SoB... main reasons being 1: They are celibate, and 2: They're wholly obsessed with the Imperial Truth. No amount of murmuring is going to get Yang through all the required steps to become one! About Ember Celica, it's actually reinforced with her Aura, which keeps the gauntlets clean and damage-resilient. I don't always mention that Yang is channeling aura into them, so it's best to assume that she is. Thanks again! :D**

**Guest: That is indeed terrifying.**

**jesseearlswift: Thanks! I hope you continue to enjoy it! **

**Bear of Cali: Thanks again dude! :D You rock!**

**Guest: You'll see! ;)**

**undead3: Eh, she already has an Inquisitor vouching for the fact that she did it. No sense denying it, might as well own up to it. She didn't explain how though! XD Haven't seen the hotshot volley gun. Sounds kickass though!**

**Nemris: Aw, thanks so much! That means a lot, dude! **

**LegionofMisfits: Hope this satisfied!**

**ChampionOfTheHive: You know I can't give you any deets about stuff like that! **

**RED Roman Pyro: CREEEEEEEEEEED!**

**doorp: I didn't believe you until I looked it up. What even, man. What even.**

**Mintskittle: I'm so happy to hear that! Glad you're digging it! Nice WMG, btw, you should put that up on the TV Tropes WMG page!**

**Gafgar: Ooh, lots of interesting theories! As above, don't be afraid to put them on the WMG page! Glad you're digging my stories!**

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**Next chapter: Shit goes down in a _different_ way!**


	14. Burn the Heretic

**A/N: Alright, alright, alright! I'm back, boys and girls! For anyone curious, no, Winged Knight is not the new writer, just an awesome guest omake writer. I'm here to stay, folks.**

**NO MORE DELAYING! CHAPTERS FOR THE CHAPTER GOD! CROSSOVERS FOR THE CROSSOVER THRONE!**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**-Chapter 13: Burn the Heretic-**

_"I am the instrument of His will. I am the voice of His contempt. I am the herald of His judgment. And I am __**angry**__." - Celestian Naja bint Mutaa al-Ibanhi, before the purgation of Pallori Secundus_

"Here's what we know, people!" Jorvis bellowed. "Jala Prime went dark when the arch-foe made planetfall on Cadia!" Once again, Gamma Platoon lined their lander, desperate to hear their sergeant over the roar of the descent. Now, however, they bore the trappings of the Inquisition, their armor black and intimidating, a single silver 'I' emblazoned upon their chests. Woadian war paint streaked their faces and armor, the swirling blue lines writ in sharp relief against the midnight flak-plates.

"This city was the last source Imperial communication in the system. Our gracious Lady needs us to kill any cultists we find, and help her find out why it all went to shit! Understood?!"

"ÀUH!" They roared, eager to fight once more. None more so than Yang, who hoisted her power sword, her voice rising well above her comrades. Her lasgun hung across her back, next to the sheath for her newest weapon. As always, Ember Celica graced her wrists, fully expanded and ready for battle.

"Yang?" Ros asked.

"Oh yeah." She rolled up the sleeve of her tunic to expose her marked shoulder. Yang's glyphs were the closest thing Gamma platoon had to a shrine, and on route to Jala Prime, had taken to praying to them. _Not to me, thankfully_. Yang thought, shuddering. _That's a frightening concept._

"Prepare for landing." Their pilot droned. They were immersed in darkness, before the singular red warning light flickered on. Their steep fall slowed as landing jets kicked on, jarring them in their harnesses.

_Deep breaths Yang._ _This is going to be fun. _With a rattling slam of pressurized metal, the doors ripped open, revealing their LZ, a small city surrounded by miles of ash-colored desert.

"Go, go, go!" Jorvis screamed, waving them forward. The green 'deploy' light clicked on, and they obeyed their sergeant, spilling out of the landing craft. Sand and prop-wash assaulted them, sending Yang's hair whipping behind her. Around them, the 111th Rangers marched out of their assorted craft. The LZ wasn't quite as cramped as it had been on Elodia, as the regiment in its entirety were spread around the city's borders in a crescent formation, ready to push into the press of rockcrete buildings.

"Forward march, people! To the perimeter!" Jorvis strode forward, and the platoon followed. _Something's off about the city_, Yang realized. It was quiet. Her aura -active from the moment they departed from the _Ascendant Dawn_\- pulsed and flickered. _Something's definitely off._

They trudged forward, boots sinking into the sun-scorched sand. A half-mile away, the newly appropriated Leman Russ tanks rumbled pass, tracks rattling and whirring. On top of the command tank _In My Spirit_ stood Weiss Schnee, resplendent in her power armor. Her duster flapped behind her, dark grey sand and the wind of her passage pulling it behind her.

"I didn't know she was joining us." Yang said, watching her friend gesture and direct her guardsmen. She laughed. How very typical of Weiss. _I bet she's loving this_.

"She does cut an imposing figure." Ros said. They reached the step-off point, joining another six platoons at the gaping jaws of the waiting city. Caolin scanned the empty streets ahead of them, peering through his scope.

"Nothin'." He said. "Not a single soul. Are we sure the Inquisitor's intel is good?"

"Oh, I'm sure." Yang replied. No way Weiss would drag them all out in this Emperor-forsaken desert without good reason.

"If you say so." He shrugged, pulling his scarf up to cover his mouth. "Emperor, but I hate sand."

"You've never seen sand in your life." Ros said.

"I've seen enough to know I hate it." Yang laughed, finding she agreed with Caolin. The sand here got everywhere, and it tasted funny. Its color was weird too, certainly unlike anything on Remnant.

"Hey, hey, we got word from the Colonel!" Rhain cried, tapping Jorvis' shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Our Lady's given the word! We're moving in!" Their fellow platoons got the word, stretching and prepping their lasguns.

"Ok, Gamma Platoon! Two by two, we're moving up!" Jorvis cried. They lined up and marched into the city, shoulder to shoulder. The air turned sour and rank as they passed the first run-down dwellings. As they progressed, Yang noticed the buildings had been built in concentric rings, each row of buildings separated by thin alleyways. Despite its decrepit state, she could tell its architects had planned it well. Even still, the city gave Yang the creeps. She knew the enemy was here, hidden away in the depths of the city, but it was impossible to tell where or how many. A shadowed fog seemed to sit on the edges of her perception, dulling her senses and left her unable to focus.

"Should we search the houses?" Ros asked.

"No one keeps anything important in shacks." Jorvis growled. "Our orders are to advance, and meet in front of the Governor's palace. _Then_ we search the place." A stiff wind shifted the dunes, buffeting the platoons with sand.

"Pbbth." Ros spat.

"Shoulda got a scarf." Caolin said.

"Shut the fuck up and watch the windows." She replied.

"Ain't much to see… they're all broken." It was true. Each and every window had been shattered, panes left empty. "There's been a fight here." Mael nodded, hefting his rocket launcher. The muscle-bound mute's eyes shifted and darted across the streets, alert and ready.

They found the first sign of activity after ten minutes of walking. It was a corpse, half-eaten and left to rot in the sun. Ash-grey sand caked the body, thick around the exposed offal and flesh that had been sprayed about the street.

"Aw, for fuck's sake." Rhain said. Yang grimaced too, averting her eyes to an alleyway, where a far worse sign awaited her. A tapestry of symbols where painted across the stone, so vile and twisted they actually hurt to look at. _How is that even possible_? Yang thought, dazed. She fell to her knees, shoulder burning hot under her tunic.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Trooper?" Jorvis asked.

"Writing in the alleyway." She wheezed. He turned to look, natural curiosity overriding common sense.

"Oh Emperor." He mumbled, also turning to retch. "Get rid of it. Rhain, let 'em know we're discharging our weapons." Nodding, he obeyed.

"Command, be advised, this is Gamma Platoon. We found some writings in the alleyway. We're gonna scorch 'em off. No enemy contact." He pressed the receiver to his ear, nodding. "Okay Sarge, we're good.

"Get rid of it." Jorvis growled. Averting their eyes, Gamma Platoon readied their lasguns and bathed the alleyway in red beams of light. "Ok, that's good. Enough! Cease fire!" Sure enough, the only thing that remained of the symbols was the wall they were scrawled on, now burnt black. "Alright, move up, Troopers!" There was no doubt about it then, cultists had been here. Rhain spat.

"I wonder where everyone went? They're definitely here." He said, kicking aside the corpse that sat in the street. He looked through the scope of his lasgun. Seeing nothing, he shivered. "They're hiding somewhere."

"They probably heard I was coming and ran away." Yang replied. Rhain laughed before a lasbolt turned his head into a molten slag of charred meat.

"GET DOWN!" Jorvis bellowed. Yang hit the dirt, just before Rhain's corpse. Bullets and las-fire stormed over them, scything down woadians left and right. Howling, they fell, blood soaking into the grey sand.

"Oh fuck, _RHAIN_!" Yang cried. He didn't even have a head left to scream with. His beaded aquila soared into the air, ripped from his neck by the sheer ferocity of the ambush. Tracers split the air, whistling white-hot as they hissed around like flies.

"Emperor protect us!" Caolin cried. A bullet kicked into Rhain, spraying blood over the squad. Jorvis rolled over to the vox-caster, picking up the receiver.

"This is Gamma! We're getting royally fucked up out here!" A las-bolt struck the sand in front of Ros, who spat and crawled towards the alleyway. "Follow the Corporal!" Jorvis screamed. "Get the _fuck_ out of the street!" He took the vox-caster with him, crawling under the torrent of enemy fire.

Yang watched the chaos unfold, her lilac eyes still wide, watching smoke curl from the cauterized stump of Rhain's neck. Just like that. Dead. There one moment, and gone the next.

"Covering fire!" Someone screamed. The woadians erupted, all nearby platoons dousing the city in las-fire. Ozone filled the air, the stark scent scorching its way into Yang's lungs. An enormous crash of cannon sounded through the city, and bricks from a building near them exploded, shooting out into the street. Dust and rubble spat into the city as it toppled, great gusts of wind heaving buffeting gales of sand into the air. Yang hammered the trigger of her lasgun, trying to pick off whatever muzzle flashes she could. Rhain. Rhain was _dead_.

"Yang! Get over here!" Ros cried, gesturing to her from the corner of an alley. She leaned out of cover, shots flying down range. Yang was getting angry. With one last salvo, she dashed forward, stopping briefly to recover Rhain's necklace. Bullets hounded her, and one whickered off her aura, tripping her just before she reached safety. Caolin hauled her into cover, pulling at Ember Celica. He'd pissed himself, a dark wet stain that crawled across his fatigues.

"Oh Emperor!" Ros said. She was panting, ash-sand and blood streaking her face. Mael leaned past them, firing a rocket at a shop a hundred yards down the street. Its banshee-scream tore across the corpse-choked dirt before crashing into its target. It exploded, and the faint death-cries of the enemy reached them.

"Fucking _animals_." Ros cried. Mael wiped away tears that were streaming down his face. Rhain was still out there, accompanied by other felled woadians. Rivers of blood ran down the streets, dripping into sand-filled gutters. The maimed ones howled, their throats dry and choked with sand. More fire laced into the slow and wounded, grinding them into chunks of smoking meat as they dove for cover.

Yang smashed her fist into their building, and dust rained down on the panting guardsmen. She stormed down the alleyway.

"What the fuck are we gonna do now?" Someone hissed, grabbing at a bleeding wound. Yang straightened, before slamming Jorvis into the wall, tearing him out of the way of a screaming cultist. He was mad, froth spilling from his lips as he screamed a wordless war cry. Roaring, Yang shoved her boot into his chest, sending the attacker hurtling into a wall.

Tossing her lasgun aside, she brought her power sword to bear, relishing the fear that flashed in the cultist's eyes. She thumbed the activation rune, and the blade sprung to life, crackling with baleful glee. With a furious cry, she brought it across him in a wide arc. Not only did it slice through him, but it split the wall behind him, revealing a few of his comrades. Startled and caught unawares, Gamma platoon doused them in las-fire.

"Holy shit." Caolin breathed. Yang looked at her sword. She hadn't even felt any resistance. A wild grin spread across her face. _These bastards are gonna pay_. The armor unleashed a salvo of death upon the enemy, brining buildings crashing down around the city.

"Guess we found the cultists." Jorvis growled. He looked at the remnants of his platoon. Rhain and ten others had fallen, never to stand again. Bodies by the dozens lined the street, casualties from other platoons. Three wounded woadians had dragged themselves to cover, clutching at various wounds. Asgeg was screaming, blood flowing between her fingers that tried to cap the stump of her arm. "Get a medic up here, damn it! We need to push on." He said. Yang nodded, picking up her lasgun. "We're moving up, people! Caolin, use that scope of yours, find out where the bastards are hiding! Yang, take Theni and Kella! Give him covering fire! The rest of you, watch our asses!" Ros obeyed immediately, catching a cultist that had slunk around behind them. She sent a lasbolt into his chest, the laser scorching a crackling hole in his chest.

"Rot in the warp, you son of a bitch!"

"NOW!" Jorvis cried. Yang spun around the corner, searching for targets. Caolin was at her feet, keeping his profile low as he scanned the street. Theni opened fire, hitting a cultist who was trying to set up a stubber. Yang lit up the warp-spawn's comrades, grinning as each lance of red light speared another victim. A few cultists returned fire, catching Theni in the leg.

"Aw, FUCK!" He cried, toppling to the sand. Kella dragged him back, and joined Yang on the corner. Bullets ricocheted off the wall, desperate to bring down the guardsmen. Yang stood her ground, roaring as her lasgun grew white-hot in her hands.

"We're good!" Caolin cried. Yang ducked back into cover, just as a stray lasbolt took a chunk out the corner. She reloaded, slapping a new energy cell into her steaming weapon with a satisfying hum. Theni wrapped his leg in bandages, his teeth bared in agony.

"You good?" Ros asked.

"I'll live. Went right through me. I'll live, but I ain't goin' anywhere."

"What do we have out there, Trooper?" Jorvis asked. Caolin scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. He joined the sergeant at the center of the alley, pointing and gesturing.

"There's at least two platoons holed up in the manor at the end of the street. Got another good group of 'em coming around the bend."

"Very well!" Jorvis said. "We've gotta avoid the street and the alleys. We'll cut through the buildings, make our way to the manor. If we catch 'em by surprise, we could outflank every single one of these animals." He snatched up the vox receiver. "Platoons Epsilon through Io, this is Gamma! We're pushing up to catch 'em with their asses hanging out!"

"Copy that!" The vox-caster crackled. "We'll keep 'em locked down. Emperor be with you!"

"And with you!" Jorvis said. He hefted the vox-caster and put it in Kella's arms. "You're our comms-man now. Trooper Theni!"

"Still here, sir." He said, resting against a wall.

"Keep watch over the worst of the wounded. I'll get a medic sent over ASAP." Theni saluted, his fingers coated in blood and ash-grey sand. "Kella, get on that." He obeyed, picking up the receiver.

"This is Gamma! We're trapped in an alley, calling for any available medics, we got three…four! Four wounded that require immediate assistance!" Asgeg screamed again, howling at her missing arm. A medic from their sister platoon dove into their alley, ducking under the hail of rounds that churned the street into a valley of death. Panting but alive, he gave a thumbs-up to Jorvis, who nodded his acknowledgment.

"Trooper Yang, get us the fuck out of here." Yang grinned, and hefted her power sword. With a cry of rage, she hacked the brick wall apart. Her comrades surged into the opening, pivoting and searching for contacts. The building was empty except for old corpses and clouds of black flies.

"Keep going!" Yang obeyed, hammering through the next wall, and the wall after that. Breaking into the adjacent building, they found a crowd of cultists. With a cry of alarm, they swiveled, bringing their guns to bear. They were too slow.

Yang lunged forward, hacking the closest one apart with her sword. It cut through him like butter. She brought it across the stomach of another, disemboweling him. Spinning on her heel, she brought her boot into a cultist's face, shattering his skull with a burst of aura.

_Careful Yang_, she thought spearing another victim, _if your hair glows, the jig is up_. It was maddening. She wanted nothing more than to let loose and rip her foes to shreds. A woman rushed her, bayonet ready to pierce her heart. _Too slow_.

The power sword hummed, tearing her head from her shoulders. Yang kicked away the body, the bayonet clattering harmlessly to the ground. Las-fire hissed around her, drenching the room in the scent of ozone.

Yang gave a wordless battle-cry, and waded into the final group of cultists. Her power sword flashed and hacked, rending her foes apart. Severed limbs and screaming cultists danced away from her, hosing the room in blood. Grabbing the face of the last survivor, she roared, smashing his head against the wall and painting it in his brains.

Watching the corpse flop to the floor, her shoulders heaved, more from anger than exertion. Every inch of the spacious room contained a dead cultist, or part of one.

"Golden Throne of Terra." Ros breathed. She kicked the nearest body over, examining its extensive wounds.

"I will now dedicate a prayer to the Emperor every day, giving thanks for putting Yang Xiao Long on our side." Caolin said, turning over a body with the barrel of his long las. She hissed, so he fired, burning a hole in her chest. He stomped her head in just to be sure. "Stay dead, dammit!"

"Keep going! A few more buildings, and we're there! Do it, Trooper Yang!"

She carved out another opening, blinking in the sun. Dust and sand filled the outside air, accompanying the screams and howling small-arms fire, which pattered against the street and buildings around them. Yang hammered away at the next wall, coughing as the sword vaporized the rockcrete. _No matter. Keep going._

Another wall. They were making progress. Yang enjoyed the release of smashing walls apart, each time hoping to find more cultists to slaughter. The glyphs on her shoulder glowed warmly as they approached their destination.

"This is it, Gamma!" Jorvis cried, pointing at the manor. "Give me their heads, Woadians!"

"ÁUH!" They screamed, voices hewn from parched and tired throats.

Yang punched the wall open, and dashed inside. At least fifty enemy warriors were waiting within, packed tight into a large meeting hall of some kind. A surprised cultist tried to bring his autogun around, but Ember Celica broke him apart, sending his shattered corpse bowling into its allies. Her comrades stormed through the opening, bayonets flashing in the dim candlelight that suffused the room. Yang dashed forward, spearing one cultist on the end of her sword, then another, then a third. Roaring, she twisted the sword around and sent it soaring towards the ceiling, slicing the skewered cultists apart in a shower of smoking blood.

A cultist at the end of the room turned to them with a flamer, cackling madly, ready to roast friend and foe alike. Caolin's long-las burst his tanks and bathed him in flame. Jorvis made no sound as he danced through the enemy, but his chainword wailed as it bit and tore through the cultists. His bolt pistol barked, obliterating every cultist it touched. Yang brought her sword around in a vicious arc, killing two and maiming a third. She punched that one in his sternum, savoring the feeling of bones crunching under her fist.

Ros screamed, a blade piercing her shoulder. She grimaced and thrust her bayonet into her attacker's chest, pushing him away. Her las-gun coughed, and his face melted away under the red stab of light.

Yang hoisted her lasgun, wielding it like a pistol as she hammered through the press of cultists. A las-bolt struck her side, sending her sprawling into a wall. Her semblance flared, and she felt the strength seeping into her muscles. Leaping into the air, she rejoined the battle, slashing and punching with righteous furor. Bullets licked after her heels, all too slow. Beaming, she fired her lasgun point-blank into a cultist, watching him scream and writhe as the red bolt of light broiled his intestines into paste. One fell to her sword, one to her fist, and another to her lasgun. The melee turned in the woadians' favor, the cultists falling back under Yang's vicious assault.

She was unstoppable.

Mael caught the throat of a cultist, crushing his windpipe in his white-knuckled fist. Another squad of cultists approached, pouring through the shattered windows, chanting a grotesque and repulsive hymn. Still clasping the corpse, Mael spun and fired his last rocket into the back of the room, blowing out the back wall with a deafening explosion and hail of rockcrete shrapnel.

Coughing and bracing herself on her sword, Yang lurched to her feet, searching for targets with her lasgun. A cloud of plaster and dust filled the room, visibility dropping to zero. Pained screams and shouts of alarm and struggle reached her ears, muted by the ringing in her ears. A firm hand fell on her shoulder. It was Jorvis, breathing heavily and painted red.

"Find the others." He mouthed. His mechanical eye twitched and whirred. "I'm going to have a word with Mael about fire discretion." Yang nodded, and stumbled off to find her friends. She found Ros first, panting and leaning against a wall. Her tunic was soaked in blood.

"Yang! Emperor be good! Help me out, would you?"

"You got it." She stooped low, placing Ros' uninjured arm around her shoulder. "How's that?"

"It hurts like a bitch. Fucker stabbed me, did you see that?"

"I did. Got him good though, didn't you?"

"Damn right I did." She gave a rattling cough. "Mael is gonna get hell for firing a rocket indoors. Coulda hurt someone!"

"Hurt the fucking warp-spawn alright." Caolin said through his scarf, appearing from the swirling clouds of dust. His eyes scanned over Ros, spreading wide when they rested upon her shoulder. "Ros! You're hurt!"

"Nothing the medics can't handle." She replied through gritted teeth.

"Ros-"

"I'm _fine_."

Caolin sighed, but didn't leave her side. The debris from Mael's rocket began to settle, revealing the carnage they had wrought. Dead littered the stone floor, many of them rendered into chunks of scalded flesh by Yang and her power sword. Blood was everywhere. Death cries and agonized yelps echoed in the enclosed space, most of them from the wounded cultists. Only a few woadians lay dead, speared by bayonets and bleeding their last onto the enemies they had taken with them.

Now that she had time to observe the room more closely, Yang almost gagged on the foulness of it all. Obscene prayers filled the manor's walls, accompanied by tapestries of flesh that depicted horrific rituals. They all set Yang's stomach to broiling. _These aren't people anymore_, she thought, turning over a cultist's corpse. His face was melted and steaming, burnt away by a las-bolt, but she could still see the taint of mutation crawling across his skin. Where his neck met his shoulders, pallid skin had shifted into sky-blue lizard scales. Yang shuddered as her shoulder started to burn.

Platoons Epsilon through Io marched up the street to rejoin them, checking their corners as they did so. Gamma had cut a swath of death through the cultist lines, allowing their comrades to push forward unimpeded.

Yang looked out at the valley of death that Rhain died in, saw the gore that painted over the street, messy red paint in a child's hand. Anger wrought its way through her, clenching her fists into balls of fury. He wasn't the first friend she'd lost… but it had been so _sudden_. _He didn't even get the chance to fight back._ Ros coughed again, trying to keep her gaze away from the tainted decorations. Mael sat against a wall, running his hands through his shaggy hair, silently struggling to collect himself. Yang withdrew Rhain's necklace from her breast pocket before curling it within her friend's trembling fist. Mael nodded, a strangled sound coming loose from his dust-choked throat. Yang left him to wade through the sea of bodies, silencing the warp-tainted wounded with las-bolts to the face.

She wondered if they even deserved the mercy.

* * *

**A/N: Aw, poor Rhain. :( This was a fun chapter to write though, especially when Yang goes postal with her power sword. Not too many notes to make. I'm really enjoying all your guys' theories! Keep 'em coming! The reviews are like souls for my personal Astronomican!**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: I answered this in the form of a PM, but I'll copy it here for everyone else's benefit! The process for making canon omakes (The Librarian's Notes) is as follows! ****1\. Have an idea, and run it by me. I'll give you input about it, ranging from "go ahead!" to "I may want to cover that myself!" ****2\. The idea works! Great! Before you spend hours typing it up, I'll give you a list of guidelines and suggestions to help improve your work, avoid spoilers, and connect with the overall story. (While remaining in canon) ****3\. Write it! ****4\. Run it by me, and I'll beta it for you. We'll also chat about the chapter, and see if it needs more than just minor revisions! ****5\. Post it! Give me the file, and it goes on the story! If you want to post it yourself on SB or SV, that is acceptable!**

**RightHandOfPalpatine: Yeah, it really does. Poor almighty Emperor. :(**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Me too! I'd like to see what you guys come up with!**

**OBSERVER01: Hallelujah! :D**

**GendouUrumaru09: Winged Knight is responsible for his excellent portrayal of the Emperor! TBH, seeing him as anything else doesn't really jive with me. He's been going for almost 10,000 years.**

**mr I hate znt nobles kill em: I guess we'll see!**

**Yoshtar: That's weird, I could have sworn there was a word for that... Anyways, interesting theories! We'll see what happens next!**

**doorp: Your triple-post had me giggling! You raise valid concerns, don't worry! They're all thoughts I've had myself one time or another. Don't worry about the whole 'conversation with Emps' thing too much though. I know exactly where you're coming from. As to romance, that will become clearer in due time. I've left that aspect of the story on the back-burner for now, but it's still stewing there, believe me. Also, woot! Fellow female warhammer fan! :D**

**deathwing316: THERE ARE NO OTHER GODS, HERETIC! *BLAM!***

**gafgar: Aw, TV Tropes is awesome! Yeah, not too much in the ways of big revelations this chapter... sorry! I can't be dropping that kind of firepower all the time. The story would get stale in a heartbeat!**

**Toloth: It's a possibility! We might never know!**

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**Thanks for all the reviews guys! Keep 'em coming! :D **

**Next chapter: The Lady Inquisitor kicks some ass!**


	15. Kill the Mutant

**A/N: Alright, now for The Lady Inquisitor's ass-kicking chapter! E****njoy! :D**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**-Chapter 14: Kill the Mutant-**

_"Emperor help whoever she names her enemy. Their end is approaching." Lieutenant Chera Marius, on The Lady Inquisitor_

Serviceman Chung dropped him off before the rest of the Woadian 111th. From three miles away, the city looked empty.

Broken. Deserted.

As the troops made their landing, he waited. A lander swung low to the ground, and Gamma platoon scrambled out. Right on schedule. Golden hair spilled out from underneath her helmet, thick and unbound. Her face held a radiant smile, smeared with fierce blue paint. She had purple eyes.

Vibrant. Alive.

He fought down the reflex to look away. Putting Trooper Yang between his crosshairs seemed wrong.

Sinful. Heretical.

But there was no mistaking it, no way in Hell. This was her, this was Trooper Yang, his target. His Lady had described her for him, but 'tall, with long blonde hair and violet eyes' was an understatement. Had to be her idea of a joke. A bad one.

The shot was lined up. One squeeze of his finger, and he would paint this woman's squad with her brains. One shell-breaker round is all it would take. Just like he had done so many times before. That is him. That is who he is. There is no one better.

He does not flinch from duty.

But for the first time in his service to the Holiest Vindicare Temple and the Lady Inquisitor, his mission seemed ludicrous. Just six minutes under his scope, and he knew this woman would remain pure. The smile on her lips, the laugh made silent by the miles that distanced them. She's uncanny. There was something afoot, more than his Lady let on. Big surprise really, her being an Inquisitor and all.

He was built for duty, bound by deference. But he knew his Lady was keeping secrets about this woman. Trooper Yang _reeked_ of secrets. He could see it in her mischievous smile. He watched their advance into the city, and she was grinning the whole way.

Golden. Radiant.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor gave the word, and the Woadians marched. Waving forward the Elodian armor with her power sword, she was the first one in the city. According to Creed, the governor's mansion was where the distress signal emanated from. She could feel the psychic residue at the center of the city, faint and obscured, but present.

If she could find out what happened here, perhaps she could find a lead on this plague of insurrections that had set her astropaths into a frenzy. An undercurrent of menace seethed beneath this whole enterprise, a feeling that set the Lady Inquisitor's hackles on end.

But as the wind of their advance swept her duster back to reveal the shimmering might of her power armor, a small smile played across her lips. Once more, she rode forth into battle. She had spent the majority of her time in the Inquisition hunting heretics and playing shadows against the wall for Amalathians to chase.

Cutting down the Emperor's enemies in open warfare would be refreshing at the very least. It had been awhile since her skills were tested. And sharpening them before Yang inevitably asked to spar struck her as particularly prudent. Her days as a scalpel were over.

Ira was in command of the _Scythe of Morning_ while she was planet-side, and her kasrkin rode behind her in their Chimeras, ready to serve at a moment's notice. Looking over the regiment, she could see the hill where Amat made his nest. The task she'd assigned him was one of brutal necessity. She trusted his judgment implicitly, and could entrust the task to no one else. Not even herself.

The ash-grey sand whorled around her, swallowing the brick buildings as the armored column rolled into the city. Examining the streets, it appeared to be empty, but that was a deliberate construction on the part of the enemy. Their black souls sat here, but she could not tell where they were or when they would strike. A dark fog sat over her witches' sight, obscuring the sharper visions to which she was accustomed.

_There's something deeply wrong about this._

Opening the hatch, she stooped to order the vox-officer in the Leman Russ to warn the regiment of enemy activity.

"Tell Colonel-" was as far as she got before a rocket slammed into the front of the lead tank, _The Wrath of Saint Alfabusa_. The explosion sent roiling clouds of dust shooting into the street, but the tank was unharmed. It returned fire, smiting its attackers into vapor. Peals of thunderous fire echoed up and down the column, blasting the rows of buildings into ruin. Pintle-mounted bolters roared to life, clattering as their explosive rounds shredded enemy cover.

The Lady Inquisitor sprung forward. Already, her kasrkin surrounded her, disembarking from their Chimeras. Their hellguns whined as they readied themselves to scour the rebels into ash. As the tanks stalled and searched for targets, her retinue advanced.

"Most of the platoons are engaged. Taking casualties." Cade, her vox-trooper reported. "Your orders, my Lady?"

"What else? Advance, and leave none alive." He nodded, relaying her orders to the Woadian 111th. "Now, with me! It is time to deliver the Emperor's justice!"

"OOH-RAH!" Her kasrkin replied, faces hidden behind their masks. Ordering the armor to support the main advance, the Lady Inquisitor gathered her guard and dove into the twisting alleys.

The rattle of small-arms fire echoed throughout the city, distant but constant. Working their way through the concentric ring of buildings, the very walls of the place seemed to constrict them, funneling them into some unknown cauldron. She shook the feeling off. Her witches' sight going dark was no reason to start imagining things. This was nothing she hadn't seen before.

Movement. The Lady Inquisitor called a halt, raising her fist to stop her procession. Almost fifty cultists shuffled forward in the street, marching forward to join the battle. They were a motley bunch, wearing ragged clothes and horrid brands. A few bore a touch of the mutant, fouling her nose. Her kasrkin readied themselves, taking aim from the cover of their alley.

"Say the word, my Lady." Darron whispered. She waved him off.

"I will handle this." The ground below her glowed white, her glyphs given life for the first time in many months. Releasing the spell, she rocketed forward, her aura pushing her speed beyond mortal limits. Her blade scythed through the first cultist, and the next five behind him. Blood splashed up her arm as she danced within the mob, her power sword humming with joy as it tore through the hated foe. Each movement was fluid, practical, and necessary. Her arm was a blur as it carved the enemy into meat. One man fell after another, dozens of limbs and headless bodies tumbling to the sandy streets. The grey dirt drank the blood greedily, slurping up the heretics' foul ichor.

A cultist sought to attack her while her back was to him, but her aura and honed psychic power alerted her long before his sword fell. With a casual grace, her power sword jutted into his chest, piercing his heart. She brought it forward to cleave another man in half. Falling to the earth, he still lived, pawing at the sand while he screamed in insensate pain and fear.

She crushed his head with the heel of her power armor, ending his suffering and heresy.

"Go now, and join the Emperor!" She cried, leaping forward once more. They swarmed her, railing against her power armor and aura with lasguns, stubguns, and crude swords. None found purchase. Grabbing an attacker's sword with her fist, she bent it before his eyes, turning it around to open his belly.

"FOR CHAOS!" A man cried, bringing the bayonet of his lasgun into the Lady's Inqusitior's chest. She let the blow fall, where it scratched against the paint of her power armor. "Wh-what…" The Lady Inquisitor brought a finger to her lips.

"Shh..." The man screamed, and her sword met his neck. His head sailed through the air, coming to rest on the blood-soaked sand.

"DIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" A cultist cried, leaping at her from the rooftops. Tears ran from his eyes, an arsenal of bombs wrapped tight around his ratty clothes. She threw him aside with a thrust of psychic power before he could reach her, smashing him into a brick wall thirty meters away. He stood, broken and bloodied, meeting her ice-blue eyes.

He stumbled to his knees as blood leaked from his nose, then his eyes and ears. Screaming, he flailed and kicked, howling as the Lady Inquisitor rent his mind apart. As he died, his explosives detonated, filling the street with loose sand and gravel.

The pressure wave sent her coat flapping about her, but did not faze her. Her kasrkin marched forward, stomping the remains of the cultists into nothingness.

"I haven't seen you cut loose like that since the manufactorums on Shina." Darron said, whistling as he examined the torn, bifurcated bodies before him. "Why the change?"

"Didn't want to get out of practice." She replied, grinning as she deactivated her power sword and cleansed it on her sleeve. "I didn't see my loyal guards helping." She said amicably.

"You did say you'd handle it." He said with a smile. He shrugged. "It's not like you were in any real danger. You missed one though." Bringing his hellgun to bear, he vaporized a cultist who had been observing them from a distant corner. His flesh boiled away under the sheer heat, reduced to a puddle of cooking flesh.

Chera grinned at him. _Nice shot._

Darron nodded. _Thanks babe._

"Let us continue." The Lady Inquisitor said, leaving the stacks of corpses behind her. As they pushed further into the city, the cloud that had settled over her mind intensified.

"We're now past any elements of the 111th." Cade said. Within the shade of the alleys, they crept forward. In the street before them, an enemy Chimera lumbered past, adorned with repugnant symbols and writings painted in gore. Corpses dragged behind it, bound in rusted chains, while bits of bodies decorated the hull.

The Lady Inquisitor drew her inferno pistol and fired. An orange burst of light issued forth, the well-aimed shot striking its fuel compartment, sundering the vehicle apart. Flames spewed out of the weapon ports, and burning cultists scrambled from the vehicle, only to be cut down by her kasrkin. Striding forward into the street, she examined the destroyed Chimera. _What are cultists doing with this kind of equipment?_ She wondered, eyes parsing the charred metal. A bullet crashed into her aura and tore a hole in her duster. Reinforcements had arrived.

"Push onwards!" She cried, waving her men forward with her power sword. Bullets and las-fire licked at them, kicking up sand as they dashed into cover. The fresh wave of cultists took refuge on the other side of the street, the last row of buildings before the governor's estate.

Taking cover behind the smoking ruin, the Lady Inquisitor directed the flow of battle. Now that her enemies were within view, she could easily warp their minds, attacking their perception and eroding their remaining sanity. A few crumpled completely under the mental pressure, howling and clawing at their eyes while she flooded their mind with untold suffering. Some managed to resist or ignore the phantom pains, fighting on with gritted teeth and bloody noses. Still, their aim was hindered and spotty, eroded away by their struggle to remain conscious.

Her kasrkin advanced with practiced purpose and unerring skill, ignoring the hailstorm of bullets and las-bolts that hounded them.

"Covering fire!" Darron called. Hellgun blasts responded, erupting from whatever cover his men could find. The red beams of light crashed into the row of buildings, searing the cover and boiling away their targets. "Malik, Arken, move it up!" Out in the open street, cover was sparse, and a rapid assault was their best option. Malik hurried forward, crouch-running under his comrade's storm of las-fire. Arken followed, the pilot light of his heavy flamer flickering in his haste.

Diving down below the first window, Malik threw a grenade into the interior. Crawling forward, he repeated the process, each grenade hurtling into occupied buildings, ripping its occupants to shreds. Arken purged whatever survived, his heavy flamer bathing the rockcrete in enormous gouts of promethium. A few crazed cultists rushed the assault team, howling war cries.

One sprinted at the black-clad cadians, bombs strapped to his chest, detonator in hand. Chera melted his head away, and the body tumbled to the earth, his explosives inert. Well-aimed shots slew his comrades. The Lady Inquisitor enjoyed watching her kasrkin work; they were precise, efficient, and deadly.

"Go, go, go, move it up!" Darron cried. The black-clad forms dashed forward as one, storming the enemy buildings. As the last of the cultists fled their defenses, the psychic pressure from the spell she had cast slackened, the miniscule pressure on her mind ebbing away.

Advancing with her guards, the Lady Inquisitor kicked a door open, revealing the results of her kasrkin's work. Besides a few human-shaped burnt-black husks, the room was empty. A few blasphemous prayers ran across the walls, the furniture within broken and burning.

She examined what was left of the bodies. Many of them of had guard-pattern lasguns, which was worrying. Before planetfall, she'd tried contacting the regiment that had been stationed here without success. If these lost souls were in possession of them, it could mean they'd been overrun, and looted the rest of the regiment's equipment. _It would explain the Chimera…_

"What is it, my Lady?" Chera asked, boots stained red from the corpses she trod over.

"The Chimera." she stooped, picking up a desecrated lasgun. It was painted a silvery grey, and the previous owner had engraved the eight-pointed star of chaos on the stock. "These guns. Both guard-issued. How did these cultists obtain them? Did they kill the entire regiment? Are these just the ones they managed to steal?" She cast the weapon away, sending it clattering to the corner of the room. Perhaps the PDF here turned traitor. But if that was the case, where were they? Why were they not fighting alongside their fetid cultist brethern? "Cade?"

"Yes, my Lady?" He answered, stepping forward.

"Get a progress report on the advance." He nodded, snatching up the receiver. Picking her way over the bodies, she examined the governor's manse from a back window. A concrete wall surrounded it, its wrought iron gate barred by a Leman Russ, now stained with chaotic inscriptions and bristling with bolters. Retreating cultists ran past it, pointing and shouting at their backs. _It is only a matter of time before they start shelling our cover._

Only sand filled the street, leaving no ground between them and the corrupted tank. _My inferno pistol cannot reach it from here, and if we will be cut down if we try to dash out if its line-of-sight._

"What's the word, Cade?" She said, keeping her eyes on the enemy.

"Mostly positive. The woadians have regrouped from the ambush, and are pushing into the city. Resistance is present, but-"A deafening crash, and the room collapsed around them. The heretic tank had found them. Rubble fell on the Lady Inquisitor and her kasrkin, great chunks of plaster and rockcrete that she threw aside with a roar and pulse of psychic might.

Leaning on her power sword, she stood, calling out for her guard. A chorus of voices answered her, all twenty men and women accounted for. Her reflexive spell had saved them, leaving a ring of rebar and shattered walls that sheltered the black-armored forms.

"I'm going to take care of that tank. Stay put." She said, striding out to meet the foe.

"My Lady!" Chera cried, coughing as she crawled forward. "You can't!" Dust filled the air, covering their faces in silt. The Lady Inquisitor ignored her. She could just rend it to pieces with her mind, but to do so now would be wasteful and risky. Her reserves of power were vast, not infinite. She tried another tactic.

Her hand swept in front of her, psychic power kicking up a torrent of sand. Blinded, the enemy's bolter turrets raked the cloud of dust, searching for a target. None found purchase. Calm and purposeful strides carried her within range of her target. Amid the crashing storm of landing shells, she fired her inferno pistol, the high-pitched squeal of vaporizing metal letting her know her aim was true. A plume of fire shot into the clouded air, the stacks of ammunition set alight by the burst of heat.

With a hiss of cold breath, she let the sand around her fall, revealing the carnage around her. The metal hulk burned, the crew reduced to ash.

"Sic semper hereticus." She mumbled in high gothic. The air reeked of the warp, after effects of her witchcraft settling into the air.

"My Lady!" Chera cried, jogging up to the Inquisitor. Her comrades followed her, their eyes shifting about for any signs of further danger.

"I am fine." She waved them forward. "We must enter the manor. The sooner we can leave this place, the better." She said, spitting. "This whole city reeks of death."

"I could have told you that, my Lady." Malik said, wrinkling his nose at the heretics cooking in their steel bonfire. With a swirl of her duster, she stomped past the blackening metal.

The black cloud that sat on the edge of her mind thickened as she approached the imposing tower of rockcrete. Gargoyles and defaced statues lined the approach, the once carefully manicured lawn left to weeds and decay. The door was heavy, made from precious imported wood.

With a snap of her fingers, her kasrkin destroyed it with a flurry of lasbolts. They thundered through the smoking doorway, entering their objective. A tapestry of fresh horror awaited them. The halls were lined with still-living victims, impaled on filthy iron spikes that dripped blood onto the polished marble floors. They moaned and cried out in pain, echoing wails that filled the manor's steep halls. Scrawled on besides thems were writhing, mind-bending symbols.

In the atrium, they found the source of the distress call. Spread wide by rusting chains, a choir of astropaths hung from the ceiling. Blood from countless wounds and their dangling entrails dripped onto the floor, their faces frozen in a rictus of agony, their mouths stuffed with the metal wiring that trailed from the back of their heads. The Lady Inquisitor shook her head.

A pain-cult, then. Just another one of the myriad ways worshipers of the arch-foe practiced their foul faith. She sighed. The foul decorations explained the _what_ of the insurgency, but not the _how_ or the _why_.

The atrocities at the Lady Inquisitor's senses, but she shrugged it off without much effort. Her black-clad guards were no different. They had stood with her for twenty years, seen every color of chaos. This was not new to them, and they burned it all, Arken's flamer belching cleansing flame.

"Release the survivors from their suffering." They'd been impaled, left to sink down the metal poles over the course of several days. There was no hope for them, except at the side of the Emperor. "We must push on." Whispering prayers, her kasrkin set to their task.

Psychic residue writhed below her, calling to her.

_Something's off here_. She thought. Where are the rest of the cultists? _I was sure this would be the most heavily guarded part of the city_… Then, a red blade slid itself into her mind.

Pain.

Blinding pain.

She fell to her knees, power armor cracking the marble. Unbinding her aura, she let her soul course through her, fighting away the insistent, maddening whispers. Her kasrkin cried out, shielded from the worst of the pain by their blunt minds and her protective glyphs.

"Downstairs! We must push on!" She cried. Hurrying to their feet, they ransacked the manor for passage below. Chaos was afoot, the walls _seethed _with it. "HURRY!"

"I found something!" Seff bellowed. The huge man struggled against a towering bookcase, muscles straining under his armor. "There's," he grunted, "there's a door behind here!"

"Stand aside!" Activating her power sword, the weapon crackled to life, arcs of lightning running down the engraved blade. She hacked apart the bookcase and the wrought adamantium door behind it. A set of stone stairs twisted into unknown depths, lit by weak torches. "Follow me! Quickly!" The voices in her head crescendoed once more, the whispers now full voices, rich with incomparable hate and blasphemy. The lights on the end of their hellguns snapped on, scanning the tight walls of the staircase.

A cultist was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Springing forward, the Lady Inquisitor ran him through, the hilt of her sword meeting his chest. A door stood behind him, sealed tight with unknowable scrawling. The flailing corpse still speared on her weapon, a glyph whirled around her feet and launched her forward. The door shattered apart, fragments of white-hot metal scattering into the room beyond.

Blue-robed figures stood in a circle, their staves ringing against the cold stone floor in perfect harmony. Mad chanting spilled forth from their forsaken throats, feeding the writhing figure at the center of their unholy ritual. Reality itself was coming apart, sending her head into a maddening spin. She shook it off, baring her teeth as she whispered a fervent prayer.

The corpse slid off her sword, and the Lady Inquisitor set to her work: cleansing the unfaithful. Shrieks filled the low ceilinged chamber, her inferno pistol bursting men apart while her power sword clove them into mincemeat. Hellguns and Arken's heavy flamer took care of the rest, boiling away the ones she missed and scouring the floor clean of taint.

For the pitiful creature in the center, the Lady Inquisitor slammed her sword through his heart, pinning him to the earth and ending his horrid twitching. Already, his body was showing signs of wretched transformation, nails grown into claws, and patches of skin that glowed an unnatural blue.

_They were trying to summon a daemon. Thank the Emperor we arrived in time to halt their ritual._ A few of her kasrkin vomited, unable to stand the foul stench and sheer vileness of the room. They would all surely be plagued with nightmares in the weeks to come. She could not blame them. Her own stomach roiled at the suffocating atmosphere.

"F-fool." A weak voice croaked out. Her inferno pistol snapped around, centering upon the source of the noise. A wounded cultist clutched at his entrails, flesh sloughing off his body and pooling to the floor. Only one touched with chaos could still speak and endure such agony.

"What has transpired here? Where is the Guard Regiment that was stationed here?" The Lady Inquisitor said, advancing on the broken body. He only cackled, lost in his madness. A low rumbling above their heads shook dust from the ceiling. The explosion must have been tremendous to reach them in this unholy sanctuary.

"Why," the lunatic said, a putrid grin on his face, "they've arrived. Just as He said they would."

"Basilisks." Darron hissed.

* * *

**A/N: Also known as: Why Weiss is scary as shit - the chapter.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed! It was a lot of fun to write. The chaos-bits were pretty icky though. Don't blame me for that shit though, that's on the source material.**

**Also, why is every PDF regiment in history either useless, or corrupted? I digress. **

**Anyway, did you guys like Amat's POV? I tried something a little different for him. Figured he'd think in clipped, ****Hemingway-esque bits.**

**Review Replies:**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Exactly! Glad you liked the chapter!**

**giodan: Thank you!**

**Legion of Misfits: Glad to see you liked my OC. And I hope this chapter delivered!**

**OBSERVER01: I know right? She's a blast to write! And yes, Weiss is a BAMF.**

**RED Roman Pyro: I miss playing that game!**

**dksamuri: Thank you! Winged Knight says thank you as well! :D**

**Mintskittle: She punches with the hand on the sword too. I don't know how she makes it work, but she does. XD No hints as to what's to come, but awesome theory! :D**

**deathwing316: It's certainly possible, but it remains to be seen!**

**shadow2777: That is a terrifying thought.**

**Nemris: She certainly hit them with her sword, didn't she?**

**TheSpawn117: It all remains to be seen!**

**Fizzygrenadier: Thanks for your reviews! You rock! And yes, the 40k universe is one of the ones least concerned with camouflage. **

**Gafgar: Thanks for your reviews, for both this story and TSL. So pumped you're liking this story!**

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**TYou guys rock, leaving all these awesome reviews for me! I love each and every single one! :D**

**Next Chapter: Team _W_Y gets to work. See you then! :D**


	16. Purge the Unclean

**A/N: Bigger chapter today, hurrah! It was a blast to write, so I hope you enjoy.**

**No more delaying! Let's go, go go!**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 15: Purge the Unclean**

_"Never get between the Lady Inquisitor and her prey. Never get between Trooper Yang and a good fight." Cognomen-Designate "Amat", Assassin of the Holiest Vindicare Temple_

The cultists broke after an hour of sustained fighting. They were untrained, and despite a wealth of Imperial-grade arms, they crumpled under the weight of the woadian assault. They broke and fled, where the rangers were too glad to cut them down. The ease of it all unnerved Yang, but besides suffering a massive migraine for a few minutes, clean-up proved to be uneventful. Until the shelling started.

"Do you guys… hear whistling?" Caolin asked, glancing at Ros and Yang from his vigil at a window. Ros shrugged, but Yang's stomach plummeted, her aura screaming 'danger!'.

"GET DOWN!" She bellowed, throwing herself on top of them, wrapping up the stocky woadians in her arms. The roof imploded, and the world was a shock of pain and white noise. Screaming was the first thing she heard above the pounding whine that rang in her ears. A section of wall had fallen on top of them, a pressing weight that pinned them to the floor. Channeling her aura into her arms, Yang shrugged off the rockcrete, pushing it to the side as she stood.

"Are you ok?!" She demanded. They didn't reply, heads lolling and rolling from the sudden strike. Jorvis was screaming something, but she couldn't be sure what it was. Mael did his best to stay collected, crawling across the floor to collect his weaponry. A piece of wall had crushed a wodian's head, scattering brains on the floor around them.

The second shell slammed into the sand, shooting grey clouds into the air, and railing the walls with shrapnel. Caolin and Ros clutched each other, pressing their heads into the bloodstained floor. Around them, the walls wavered and shook under the barrage.

"Get out of here!" They looked at her blankly, rocking back and forth as their hands clenched tight against their ears. She pointed at the walls, which were now splitting apart as more shells landed in the city. "It's coming down!" She cried. Heaving her friends over her shoulder, she made to leave, before another salvo crashed into the city. The noise was tremendous, earth-shattering crashes of gut-punching bass. Yang had never quite heard anything like it.

A chunk of rubble pierced Svyr. He wailed, the offending shrapnel protruding from underneath the rim of his flak armor. Wrapping her fist up in his collar, she dragged him away from their crumbling cover.

Jorvis followed her example, pushing and shoving the woadians into an adjacent building, for whatever good it would do them. He bellowed and shouted, shoving the ones that were too slow or shell-shocked to move right away.

"What the fuck _is _that?" Yang breathed, gritting her teeth as she bore her friends to safety. Their temporary place of rest collapsed behind them, crushing three more of Gamma Platoon. Jorvis cleared himself just in time, scrambling away from the ruin.

The ringing in her ears died away, and the first words she heard were wailing, anguished screams. Rage filled her, her eyes flickering red. Helpless. So fucking _helpless_.

"What in name of the Golden Throne is going on?!" Someone cried.

"Basilisks!" Jorvis spat.

"We don't have Basilisks!" Caolin cried.

"You bloody fool!" The sergeant said, slapping the back of his helmet. "They're not ours! The guard here's turned traitor!"

"Oh, _fuck._" Ros said, leaning against the wall. Caolin whispered a prayer. Mael made the sign of the Aquila, a rictus of disgust crawling across his face. The microbead in Yang's ear crackled. Weiss.

"What's going on?"

"The whole place is a trap… Holy Terra, I'm an _idiot_!" She sounded dazed.

"Weiss?"  
"I'm fine, Yang!" The microbead spat. "Now listen carefully. If we don't deal with these Basilisks, we're dead. I need your help." Yang ducked as another salvo landed. Tremors racked the earth as the shells impacted, shooting geysers of sand into the air. A few woadians cried out, pushing their heads between their knees.

"What can I do?"

"I'm swinging by in the _Spirit_. Be ready."

* * *

Barrage. Thunder.

These are not sounds he's used to. The hiss of a paintbrush against an empty canvas, the keening bark of an exitus rifle. These are sounds he is accustomed to. The Lady Inquisitor did not live on the battlefield, did not seek out overt conflict. Now it found itself upon her, the rolling crash of enormous guns singing a song of death. Trooper Yang was still alive though. He could tell that much through the grey haze that coiled in the city, shaken loose by the shelling. She was a beacon, a shock of stunning color amongst the muted rockcrete and desolate sand. Her assault into the city had been glorious to watch. She fought as if possessed with the Spirit of the God-Emperor himself.

But the barrage worried him.

He wasn't ordered to keep her alive. He was ordered to bring her mercy should she fall to chaos. If he did nothing however, the barrage would rend her into paste, incredible skills notwithstanding. The guns were distant, but could fall prey to his rifle all the same. Distance wasn't the issue.

Hesitation. Deliberation.

Defying orders? Not really. The chances that she would turn at all were miniscule, even smaller when framed within the minutes it would take to deal with this threat. The Lady Inquisitor trusted him. His methods were his own.

He shifted around, turning away from the city. The line of Basilisks squatted a few klicks away, defaced by the guardsmen who had turned away from the light of the Emperor.

Disgusting. Abhorrent.

And very, _very_ dead. His ammunition wasn't plentiful enough to destroy all of them, but he could slacken their pace by a good deal.

He began his prayer to the machine-spirit within his exitus rifle, beseeching it to aid him in his task. His lips quivered with the incantation, the words silent underneath his stark white skull mask. The litanies kept his mind focused. He did not need to say them. They just helped.

His aim was perfect regardless.

"And with His wrath guiding my hand, so shall it be." He finished, stilling his heart. His finger squeezed the trigger, and death filled his ears. The butt kicked against his shoulder, the rifle whining and hissing. It spilled smoke as the casing ejected.

A turbo-penetrator round struck its target, piercing through the Basilisk's metal hull, piercing the traitor who sat within and piercing the ammo cache at the rear of the vehicle. It went up like a promethium factory, spewing fire from its long barrel, which cracked and bent under the unremitting heat.

"The Emperor grant you Absolution." Another round entered the rifle, locked into a place by a practiced hand. He readjusted his aim, the scope hovering over the next mobile battery piece. Through his scope, he saw the confusion of the enemy.

Disorganization. Fear.

He smiled, his shining teeth lost to the world. _Click_, the trigger snapped. **_BOOM_**, the rifle roared. "The Emperor grant you Absolution." Amat said. He watched the fruits of his talents blossom into gouts of cleansing flame.

Soon, his sights would center once more upon Trooper Yang Xiao Long. But for now, he relished in the simplicity of his task. He was doing good works in the name of the Emperor. And by the Golden Throne, it was _fun_.

* * *

Yang leapt up to accept Weiss' gauntleted hand, climbing aboard the back of the _In My Spirit_. Its engine spat and gurgled, greedily sucking down fuel. Shells hammered the city, screaming steel rain that shook the earth with unrelenting force.

"Sergeant Jorvis!" Weiss cried. "Grab your men and whoever else you can find and get them the hell out the city! I've ordered a general withdrawal to the outskirts. Report to Capitan Lyrasson as soon as possible!"

Jorvis saluted, hand hovering over his metal eye.

"Your will be done, my Lady!"

"And for the sake of the Emperor, do it quickly!" Weiss said.

"Stay safe!" Yang called to her friends, who waved back.

"You too!" Ros yelled, wincing in pain from her wound. Yang watched them duck back into their paltry cover, watching her ride away. She felt bad leaving them in such a shit-storm. _Be careful guys. _She thought. _We already lost Rhain today._ Her fist clenched, nails biting into the flesh of her palm. _If I had only been paying better attention! _

Weiss put hand on her shoulder.

"Calm yourself, Yang. Your eyes." Yang took a deep breath through her tunic, trying not to inhale the dry miasma churned up by the column of tanks.

"I… lost a friend in the ambush." She explained, looking out towards the wasteland beyond the city.

"I'm sorry. I'm partially to blame. I should have known this place was a trap. Outplayed and outmaneuvered." Her fingers curled around the hatch of the _Spirit_, metal crumpling under her touch. "We need to find out how they fell so fast. I feel a sinister hand in all of this." Yang shivered.

"You're right. This whole city seems… alive some how. Like it's breathing down my neck. Almost like my aura flaring up. But different." Weiss nodded, retrieving a pair of binoculars from within her duster.

"It's your psychic power at work." She peered through the lenses, grimacing as she did so. "We'll discuss it once we've left." Yang looked at her friend the Inquisitor.

"Alright." They sat in silence for a while. Weiss' brow furrowed in thought, her lip gnawed bloody by pondering. "Where are your guards?"

"They're unwell." Weiss said, clearly unwilling to discuss the topic further. Yang tried something else.

"You know, I think I'd like to hear happened on Remnant. After… you know." She sniffed. "I left." Weiss looked up from her musings.

"I'd be happy to tell you, again, after we've left Jala Prime." She sighed, removing the binoculars and tucking them back into their place. "I can tell you this though: it is not a happy tale."

"So Ruby died for nothing?" Weiss' measured calm fractured for a moment, before the Inquisitor sealed the gaps once more.

"No. I… exaggerated. It's just… your funeral was not the last one I attended." The ludicrous nature of the statement made Yang laugh. Her funeral. Weiss went to her funeral. _They stuffed my body in a box, buried me, and now we're riding into battle together, like it didn't even happen._

"I'm sure we can talk about it later. I assume we're on our way to kick some ass?" Weiss paused before replying, her fingers kneading her temples. Another brace of shells landed, well behind them now. They were almost clear of the city.

"Sorry. Head's killing me. I had to deal with some unpleasant business."

"Daemons." Yang answered immediately. She did not know exactly how she knew it. The word came from nowhere, a creeping sensation that had buried itself in her mind ever since the blinding flash of her migrane had assaulted her.

"I… yes." Despite her pain, Weiss gave her a small grin. "Let me guess… just a feeling?" Yang nodded. "You're a very powerful psyker. Once we get off Jala Prime, we'll start your lessons for real. For now, you need to keep your impulses and emotions under control."

"So we _are_ going to go kick some ass." Weiss checked her pistol, looking over the blocky, esoteric edges and fluttering purity seals.

"Yes. We are. But if you lose yourself to your rage, Basilisks will be the least of our troubles. Promise me that won't happen." The desperation in her eyes gave Yang pause. She slapped her friend on her shoulder, hand ringing against the polished ceramite plates.

"I promise." She said, smiling.

"Good. In truth, we are not pursuing the Basilisk. That task lies with Lieutenant Varo and his armor. We are going to find their leader. I need to interrogate him."

"So… I can't break his face?"

"No. Not until I'm done with him."

"And how will I know which one is their leader?" Weiss scoffed.

"They're always the largest, the grossest, or the loudest of their ilk. That's how heretics are." Yang laughed, although her friend's faith set termites crawling under her skin. She dismissed her friend's faith, pushing the thought to the back of her mind. For now, she was looking forward to the next fight. After lamenting her uselessness under the barrage, it felt good riding out to meet the enemy. _Hope Gamma's doing alright._

Weiss spoke into her microbead, ordering the tanks into chevron formation.

"Here we go, Yang. Stay low to the _Spirit_, and keep your aura up. If one of those Basilisks decides to shoot at us instead of the city…"

"Kablooie. I get it." She unsheathed her power sword, activating the blade with a tap of its activation rune. The weapon sprung to life, hissing with destructive force. Punching things was always fun, but the sword was growing on her. Weiss did the same, drawing her sleeker, double-edged sword while her lips quivered in prayer.

Deceptively nimble for such blocky vehicles, the elodian armor approached the first line of Basilisks. Yang's nose wrinkled. Even with the speed of their advance whipping at her hair, the rank corruption of the traitors' vehicles reached her nostrils. Burnt oil, ozone, and the iron stench of blood clouded the air, accompanied by the curdling sweet smell of death.

The _Spirit_ fired, shaking the two friends to their bones. The rank stench of cordite filled their nostrils, and one of the Basilisks crumpled under the force of the blow. Shrapnel filled the air, scattering before a blooming orange fireball.

"ALL RIGHT!" Yang bellowed, shaking her sword at the enemy. Weiss smiled, head shaking under her wide-brimmed hat.

"Now Yang, remember: their leader, he lives. Everyone else dies. Let your aura loose. Don't worry about anyone seeing you." Yang grinned, smashing her fists together.

"Ice Queen, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do just that." The column spread apart, each of the ten tanks buffeting the artillery batteries with a salvo of triumphant fire. The noise was tremendous, but each cannon sounded glorious to Yang.

They crested a small dune, revealing an advancing column of troops, disembarking from mutilated Chimeras. At least two hundred traitor guard stormed forward to support their artillery pieces. Light grey fatigues rippled in the wind, their faces occluded by thick leather masks. Horrid symbols crawled over their clothes, their weapons bearing scrap-welded bayonets. There were a _lot_ of troops.

"I can't sense their Colonel." Weiss mumbled. "I don't think he's with them."

"Can't just leave 'em alone though." Yang said, cocking Ember Celica. "How about Freezerburn, for old times' sake?" Weiss laughed.

"Let's do it." Crouching low on the turret of the _Spirit_, she activated her microbead. "Lieutenant Varo, be advised, myself and my Representative are engaging the heretic infantry on foot. Hunt down all traitor Basilisks, and await further instruction."

"Let's do it." Yang said. _I'm grinning like a dork, no doubt_. She thought. _It feels so good to fight alongside Weiss again. _It let her forget the other events of today. They leapt off the tank, rolling to a stop before the advancing infantry. A cloud of dust swirled behind them, as grey as their fatigues.

Spotting the two women, the front line opened fire. Scorching hot las-fire hissed past them, hardly daunting their long strides. Weiss' lips hissed a prayer, and she pointed underneath the troopers. With a whiff of ozone, an enormous ice-blue glyph spun into existence under their feet, freezing into a solid mass of ice. Yang's jaw fell open. The glyph-spell was almost six hundred yards wide and riddled with icy spires, well above anything Weiss… above _anyone _was capable of on Remnant. _She didn't even use her dust!_ _Is this what a psyker can do? Color me impressed, Weiss. Guess this means I'll have to try just as hard._

"Your turn, Yang." Wasting no time to obey, Yang launched herself into the air with Ember Celica, flying higher and higher with each consecutive blast. She soared above the enemy, dozens of feet high, dancing between the crimson las-storm that filled the air, seeking her death. At the apex of her ascent, she fell, accelerating herself to lightning speeds with her aura. Channeling her aura into her power sword, her hair burst into flames, her eyes glowed crimson, and Yang struck the center of the ice with all her might.

It exploded. Shards of glassy ice ripped into the closest chaos forces with unrelenting fury. The traitors fell apart under the barrage, sliced apart by thousands upon thousands of razor sharp fragments, bursting into a blood mist. Her aura boiled the rest of the ice away, blinding the entire chaos cadre with a cloud of steam. Her microbead crackled.

"Yang, get out of there!" Weiss said. She wanted to stay, hack the survivors apart with her sword, smash them apart with Ember Celica, but she heeded her friend's words. With a leaping bound and blast of her aura, she was skidding across the sand next to Weiss.

"What's up?" She said, panting. Using aura so recklessly was her strong suit, tiring though it was. And not since the traitor marine had she poured so much of it into an attack.

"Well," she said, hoisting her inferno pistol, "let's have some target practice." Yang smiled, and unslung her lasgun. "Just start shooting, you're bound to hit something." The cloud of vapor was lifting quickly under the sun's relentless heat, but it was much too thick for the chaos soldiers to see through.

They opened fire, pouring red lances of light and orange melta blasts into the cloud. Explosions and clouds of ash-grey sand issued forth, accompanied by panicked screaming. Yang emptied her lasgun's one hundred and fifty shots in seconds, hammering the trigger until the barrel belched inert gas. Ejecting the power cell, she slammed a fresh one in, resuming her scathing sweep of las-fire.

Weiss' shots were slower, but each _hiss-crackle-__**BOOM**_ of the inferno pistol sent cultist fragments scattering across the desert. The sound of the elodian armor cutting apart the Basilisks echoed behind them, great flowers of flame blooming across the sand.

The last of the ice-mist faded away, revealing the scattered and broken remains of the traitorous infantry. Only twenty-odd soldiers remained. Blood and black pits of burnt sand littered the ground where two hundred men once stood.

"We make a great team, don't we?" Yang said. Weiss nodded. "How did you make that huge ice-glyph without any dust?" Weiss kneaded the bridge of her nose, looking out over the survivors. "Let me guess… later?"

"Correct. Sorry." Weiss said with a small smile. She lifted an arm to point at one of the survivors. "We have more important matters to attend to. We need that Capitan."

"How can you tell he's a captain?"

"The spiked helmet." Yang squinted. _It does look rather pointy_. "He could know where his colonel is." The man in question stumbled and tried to pick up his chainsword, dazed by the sudden, furious assault.

Rushing forward, Yang dispatched his comrades with ease. The Captain struggled miserably, swinging his weapon around at Weiss. With a quick thrust of horror that stabbed itself into her heart, Yang thought the blow was going to land.

It didn't.

Weiss caught the whirring chain-blade with her palm, her snow-white aura halting the blade in its place. She crushed the blade between her fingers. The Captain's eyes went wide with fear. Her hand swung around, wholly enveloping his face.

"Forfeit your mind." The traitor guard screamed behind his mask, arms flailing and jittering as Weiss ransacked his soul. A seal on one of his breathing tubes burst, spilling orange ichor onto the thirsting sands. She smashed his head in, letting the corpse flop to the ground.

"Anything good?"

"I got what I wanted, but it's not good news. Their Colonel is going to arrive soon, with a few tanks and the rest of the PDF close behind."

"I say we nab him and bomb the shit out of them from orbit." Yang didn't know how many more 'Freezerburns' of that size she had left in her.

"That's the plan. I'll have Ira order the withdrawal. Watch that ridge." Weiss replied, pointing at a tall dune around a mile away. Yang nodded, cracking her neck and reloading her lasgun. The smoking battlefield sat around her, the scent of decay filling the air.

_Yeesh_. She couldn't remember fighting like this on Remnant. Never so many, and never so much _death_. Kicking over a body, she could see why citizens of the Imperium found it so easy to dehumanize their enemies. One corpse bore melting ice-wounds, his face twisted into a corvid shape. The mutations these men bore went far beyond the natural features of the Faunus. Beyond anything that should be worn by mortal skin. In Remnant, there was always some level of humanity to those she'd fought. Here, things were just... _different_. It's a place where nightmares live, slobbering and thirsting for blood in every single heart that prayed to foul, unimaginable, but very real gods. She shuddered.

The last of the basilisks died, crushed under the constant barrages of the elodian armor. They had tried to flee, but could not escape the more maneuverable elodians.

A rumbling in the distance pulled her from her thoughts. The enemy had arrived.

"Weiss!" Yang said, pointing towards the armor that rumbled closer. One tank was adorned with miscellaneous trophies and covered in grotesque appendages. Broken crab-limbs, inky black feathers, and hoofed human legs sprouted from the hull, stunted and writhing. It disgusted her, but Yang was willing to bet that's where the Colonel was.

"Right! Lieutenant Varo, we have incoming. Direct all fire to the enemy armor, and do not, I repeat, do _not _destroy the lead tank!"

Yang readied herself for the counter attack. The purring engines of the allied armor grew louder as the tanks approached, barrels burnt black from use.

"Open fire!" Once again, the deafening cracks of cannon-fire pounded into her ears, throaty and gut-churning. Returning shells soared past them, striking the desert in clouds of grey sand.

"Weiss, what's your plan?"

"Stand back." Her power armor whirred as she stepped forward, directly in the path of the incoming tank. Boots black as sin and lined in pure silver dug into the ground, bracing her. Deactivating her sword, she put her weapons away and threw her arms forward.

The air crackled to life, seething with unseen psychic energy. The smell of ozone returned, now rank and cloying. _This is the warp_. Yang realized. _This is what it feels like. _Her shoulder grew warm under her sand-and-sweat stained pauldron, faint tinges of gold light shining through the tunic.

Weiss' hands split, pulling against an invisible force. The colonel's abhorrent tank split in half, thick steel plates peeling away like dead skin. Its engine, freed of its housing, fell to the earth as it spewed flames and spat fuel. Its treads snapped under the force, stalling the tank in place and exposing the crew.

Releasing her hold on the warp, Weiss swayed from the effort of the spell. Catching her, Yang let loose a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"If…" Deep breath, "You'd be so kind, Yang." Weiss said, gesturing at the tank. Two trails of blood leaked from her nose, staining her lips.

"Easy, Weiss. Take a breather. I'll get the bastard." Approaching the wreck, the crew cognizant enough to pull weapons on her fired. Only two rounds landed, and she shrugged off both with her aura. Her lasgun hissed, silencing the crew. The Colonel himself backed into the burning wreckage of the tank, scrambling away from the golden-haired soldier before him. His flesh was breaking out in fish scales, while weeping lesions spilled black ichor into his writing scale-skin.

Almost choking on the scent, Yang grabbed him by his collar. He started to say something, but she punched him in the face before he could form the words.

"That's for Rhain, asshole." She kicked him in the groin for good measure. Scooping him up again (and holding him at arm's length, lest he befoul her hair), she carried him over to Weiss. "One traitorous fuckwit, as ordered." She threw him to the ground, grinding his face into the sand with the heel of her boot. Around them, the battle still raged, tanks exchanging fire as clouds of dust rolled over the dunes.

"I won't say anything to the likes of you!" The man said. His voice was unnatural, like the sound of flesh sloughing off under the press of sandpaper. "Go fuck your precious corpse-god, whore!" He screeched. Weiss laughed, the sound as spritely as it had been on Remnant.

"Truly, you are the stupidest creature your dark masters have sent my way. Do you know who I am?"

"Some withered cunt who's come crawling out of her hole?" He spat.

"Wrong answer." Weiss said, smashing his rotting teeth in with her foot. He spat black fluid, leaking broken ivory onto the sand. "I am the Lady Inquisitor."At that, his rheumy eyes spread wide open. Panic took him, causing him to flail and thrash under Yang's hold. "And you are _sorely_ mistaken about what's going to happen next. I am not going to ask you questions. I am not going to interrogate you. I am going to take what I want. Don't blabber on about your loyalty." She met his gaze for a full second before rubbing smiling. "I've already taken everything useful from you."

"Wh-what?" He mewled. "N-no that's impossible!" Weiss' power sword pierced his heart, and he died. Yang let loose a long breath. _Finally. Dealt with. _She was glad it was over, but watching Weiss work was… unsettling.

"Did he know anything?" Weiss' eyes darted back and forth, and she chewed her lip again.

"Quite a bit. I… hold on. It's a lot." Yang nodded, handing her canteen to her beleaguered friend. "Thanks." She said, drinking deep. "It seems one of Abaddon's Warlords has slipped past the Cadian defenses. He has designs that could tip the scale of the Thirteenth Crusade in the arch-foe's favor… handily."

"Say what now?" Yang asked. That sounded bad. _Very_ bad. Weiss didn't answer at once, instead pushing her microbead into her ear.

"Lieutenant Varo, get us out of here! We're pulling out! Back to the landers ASAP!"

"Weiss what's going on?"

"His name is Josephus the Corruptor… damn it, I should have figured!" She turned to Yang, who wore a blank look. "He is a plot-seeder, possessed with an unnatural charisma and a domineering mind. No doubt he is behind the chaos tearing apart the Segmentum." Weiss paused, wiping at the blood that streamed from her nose. "I should have known. I just didn't know he was capable of operating on such a huge scale."

"And how is he supposed to help Abaddon?" Yang asked.

"From what I can tell, he plans to drown the kasrs of Cadia under billions of black-hearted converts. And I think I know where he's headed next." Weiss looked up, meeting Yang's eyes, desperation and exhaustion dulling the bright blue irises. Yang clapped a hand over her sizable shoulder pauldron, doing her best to lift her friend's spirits.

"Well, let's go kick his ass!" Weiss shook her head, a smile reaching her lips.

"Dolt."

They hitched a ride on the _Spirit_, riding back to the LZ with all available haste. As they neared the city, they passed a small hill, and for some reason, Yang thought she could feel a pair of eyes paring her apart. All of this psyker business was getting to her.

* * *

**A/N: And thus concludes the Jala Prime campaign! It was short, yes, but the Lady Inquisitor works fast! (Her telepathy helps!)**

**Hope you enjoyed Yang Wess kicking ass together. As you can see, there's a definite relationship between aura and psychic ability, but we'll leave the specifics for later.**

**As for Weiss getting tired, I figured she's upper beta-level, she could tear apart a tank with her mind. But combined with that enormous ice-glyph, she'd start to 'feel the burn' so to speak.**

**Also, quick note about Amat's "paintbrush" comment: it's how he prays, much like how monks dedicate their lives to illuminated manuscripts or orthodox nuns to triptychs.**

**Review Replies:**

**giodan: Who's Chang? lol Oh, and I hope the ice today made up for it! :D**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Agreed!**

**biolaj1998: It was just a passing reference! XD**

**Dom380: I'm so thrilled you're liking the story! I can't comment on Blake, but if you have a theory, go put it up on the WMG thread on the TV Tropes page!  
**

**undead3: I am fully aware what PDF are like, I was just making fun of myself for having such a predictable "twist"! Haha These guys were a bit fodder-ish, in case that wasn't apparent. However, not all PDF regiments are as weak as them... this is the Imperium after all, there's no such thing as a standard of quality! And about Amat, I thought I explained his purpose at the end of chapter 11. He's there to kill Yang if she falls to chaos.**

**OBSERVER01: Yeah, they wrecked the shit out them, didn't they?**

**Mintskittle: Your questions will be answered. Don't worry though, I don't do cheap drama! XD. And yes, ork!Ruby is hilarious.**

**Gafgar: Hahaha I'm pumped you like the story so much! I'm having a blast writing it!**

**reality deviant: Thanks!**

**Yoshtar: Her lack-of-glyphs were all saved up for this! Hope you enjoyed! And yes, see undead3's reply for my thoughts on PDF haha**

**coduss: You did! I don't think the Emperor's getting a text-to-speech device anytime soon. I couldn't do the concept justice! And Weiss didn't order a hit, she's having Amat keep over-watch on Yang, making sure she doesn't get up to any chaos shenanigans. **

**Nemris: Weiss use of a power sword will be addressed. Glad you're liking the story! **

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Hooray, a new fan! So glad to have you! I try to keep the aspects of both 40k and the RWBY personalities in balance here. It's a lot of work, but it appears to be paying off! Thanks again!**

* * *

**I can't tell you much about next chapter, except that you guys are gonna lose your fucking shit. ;)**


	17. The Hunt Begins

**A/N: Alright, more RWBYhammer40k! Lots of info in this one, I hope you're all entertained! :D**

**Let's get to it!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 16: The Hunt Begins**

_"Home. Family. Illusions both… Emperor help me, I can't help but miss them." – Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik_

Yang watched Jala Prime burn. They all did, each woadian crowding each other for a view out of the slim viewports that framed the small, grey-brown orb below them. White streaks of light slammed into the planet, each blossoming into infernos that cleansed the planet of chaos. Her friends managed to smile and make grim jokes about the fate of the traitors, but Yang couldn't stop shaking. Weiss. _Weiss Schnee_ was capable of this. The entire world, its culture, its people… gone. Wiped from existence. Weiss had explained why she did it. What would happen if the planet was left in the hands of Chaos. It didn't help. She knew this wasn't the first planet Weiss had glassed.

"Dust." She whispered, as the last stretch of desert split and broke under the firepower of the _Scythe of Morning_. The power of an Inquisitor was overwhelming in its scale, choking her on the airs of its sheer ability.

A few hours later, Weiss gathered the Woadians in the great hall of the _Ascendant Dawn_, deciding to accompany the regiment on their journey to the next warzone, Ranshu. Accompanied by her masked guards, she stood at the head of the hall, presiding over the funeral of almost one thousand woadian dead. Many of the wrappings that adorned the metal floor did so in memoriam, as artillery had vaporized their corpses or had been left behind, abandoned after fleeing Jala Prime. It didn't sit well with Yang, who joined her comrades in the funerary procession.

A traditional dirge rang against the hull, thousands of voices bearing the hymn aloft to the distant rafters and wrapping around the colossal flying buttresses. It was not the first time it had been sung, but it was the first time it had been set loose in the bowels of a ship. Here, the words were oppressive, bearing down on Yang like an enraged goliath.

Or maybe it was because Rhain was counted among the dead. The thought was still hard to accept, difficult to wrap her mind around. It was not the first time she'd lost a friend, but the manner in which he died writhed underneath Yang's skin. It was cruel. Unfair. A single shot to the head, and the gentle, humble man who missed his family was no more. It had been so sudden, she found herself looking for him as they re-embarked, before remembering they'd abandoned his body on the blood-soaked streets of Jala Prime, purged along with the rest of the planet by thundering salvos. His necklace hung around Mael's neck, the only proof that a man named Rhain even existed.

The lilting song ended, the voices rising and fading away into the ceiling. Weiss stepped forward, spreading her hands wide to silence the murmurs. Standing atop a pedestal, surrounded by Colonel von Israfel, Commissar Daniloft, and Major Hrakksson, she cut an imposing figure.

"Greetings Woadians, loyal guardsmen all." She surveyed the sea of faces that stared at her, waiting on every word. Inquisitors were notoriously reclusive individuals, and Weiss' address piqued their curiosity. Many had not even seen her before now. "It is with a heavy heart I attend the funeral of your fallen. The Emperor rewards all that die in his service, and today, many stalwart companions took their place at his side. Know that they did not die in vain. Our expedition uncovered vital secrets. While our brothers and sisters in arms war against Abaddon on Cadia, we find our self presented with a smaller yet no less important task." Hushed whispers filled the brief pause in the Inquisitor's speech.

"A mad, warp-spawned heretic named Josephus the Corruptor is ranging free beyond the Cadian Gate, leaving untold death and destruction in his wake. My mission - _our_ mission is thus: hunt him down like the dog he is, and purge him from existence. I have faith in you, men and women of Woadia. Our task is not an easy one, but I expect nothing less than total success. For you are staunch in your convictions, shielded by contempt and righteous in your service. You have been chosen, guardsmen! I have chosen you for a quest that others would balk at! You are my chosen, and we will. Not. Fail!" Then, she did something Yang didn't expect. Weiss slammed her heel down on the podium, the crash of power armor on metal ringing out loud and clear. "ÁUH!" She bellowed.

"**ÁUH!**" They replied to a man. Yang joined in, it was impossible not to. Inwardly, she praised Weiss' rhetorical ability. After spending barely ten hours on Jala Prime, they had retreated, and the casualties rankled them deeply, without any visible results. She'd turned that around with a few carefully chosen words. _Just like Ros_.

* * *

Yang had left her equipment in the barracks, deciding to roam the _Ascendant Dawn_. She was sure Weiss would find her eventually. Tying her tunic around her waist, she set off, clad in her usual tank-top and rolled-up fatigues. The first stop she made was the armory, where she picked up a brace of shells for Ember Celica. She'd used the last of her dust-shot on Jala Prime. The shells here fit her weapon, but they couldn't match the power of the ones she'd used on Remnant. Slipping a shell into her bandolier, she sighed. _I guess it'll have to do._

After the armory, her feet carried her where they would, directionless, random. The endless snaking halls brought a wanderer's peace to her troubled mind. One corridor after another of pipes, wiring, miniature shrines and painted graffiti. A few months of woadian billeting had colored the _Ascendant Dawn _in the livery of its inhabitant agri-worlders. Knot-work imagery, woadian names and prayers had been scrawled in rough script across the walls. She ran her fingers along some of the words, wondering if any of the corpses in the great hall had written them. She continued on, watching the writings fade as she plunged further and further into the bellows of the ship.

"You'll get lost if you keep this up." Weiss melted out of the shadows, still in her power armor.

"Hey Weiss."

"You ready to talk?" Yang nodded. "Good. I know a place where we won't be disturbed." She followed her swirling duster, up many flights of stairs and several lifts. Finally, Weiss led her to a room tucked away into the uppermost loft of the Ascendant Dawn, the Empyrean Observation Deck. The room was open and airy, but devoid of inhabitants. It was sparsely furnished, containing only a few leather couches that sat in the center of the room.

Behind a wall of thick glass whorled the warp, clouds of impenetrable miasmas that danced and whirled beyond the Gellar field that protected the ship from their malice. Yang was speechless. This was chaos in its rawest, most concentrated form. Her hand caressed the glass, eyed glued to the spectacle of lights before her.

"It's beautiful." She whispered.

"Many find it horrifying, and avoid this place like the plague. I figured you would enjoy it though." Weiss produced a bottle of wine from her duster, smiling a sad smile. "Care for some wine?" Yang was agape.

"Do you go anywhere without wine?"

"Not if I can help it." She said with a shrug of her enormous shoulder pauldrons. She sat on a couch, inviting Yang to do the same. "I always find myself needing it." She didn't join her at first, instead taking careful steps towards the enormous window.

"Is knowing that this Josephus guy is around really that important?" Yang asked, fingers caressing the tempered steel-strong glass. "I lost a friend down there. Hell, Asgeg lost an arm. I need to hear that it wasn't for nothing." Weiss sipped at her wine, blue eyes parsing the infinity of the warp.

"I explained it earlier. Josephus the Corruptor has been a thorn in the side of the Imperium for many centuries. He has an uncanny knack for breeding heretics like a corpse breeds maggots. I am almost certain he is behind this torrent of revolutions. However, I gleaned something else from the Colonel. It was fragmented, but there was something about the Archives of Saint Totha..." She said, rubbing at her chin.

"The what?"

"The Archives of Saint Totha. A repository of obscure and shrouded knowledge, tucked away under the surface of Ranshu." She said. Yang couldn't fathom why anyone would make such a big deal over a glorified library. She left the window, spreading herself out on the couch next to Weiss.

"Why is he after it?"

"I don't know. But if he is, it's in our best interests to beat him there. He must be denied whatever he seeks, at every turn." The determination in her voice was so typical of Weiss, but Yang couldn't help but notice the sheer cold it bore as well.

"And he wants some dusty old books?" Weiss sighed.

"Dusty old books aren't a joke here, Yang. They are artifacts, rare deposits of knowledge. And there's power in knowledge Yang. Unbelievable power."

"And what if we're too late? What if he's not there?"

"If he's come and gone, then hopefully we can find another clue of his whereabouts. If he has not yet arrived, it's best to find out what he seeks. I have no idea what Totha's Archives could offer him, but he seeks them anyway. We must do whatever it takes to stop him before he amasses his army." Weiss scowled, swirling the contents of her polished green-glassed bottle. "I just wish it didn't take so many lives. Funerals are the worst." Yang paused, looking up at her friend.

"That reminds me, Weiss. Would you mind telling me what happened on Remnant after I… left?" Weiss nodded, before taking a swig of wine.

"Your funeral… I guess that's a good place as any to start." Removing her hat, she let her ponytail loose, ivory-white hair spilling over her armor. "It was very small. Your father and your moth-" Yang shot her a look. "_Raven_ showed up, but they didn't speak. Blake and I made it as well. Team JNPR showed up. Cardin too."

"Cardin went?" Cinder had killed his entire team, and while Team CRDL was never Beacon's most well-loved team, they always served Ozpin faithfully. The coroners needed marrow samples to determine which boy was which.

"Cardin went. It took the death of his team, but he managed to turn into a decent human being. I think he had a crush on you too." Weiss said, a small laugh on her lips. The dark humor in her countenance vanished almost immediately. "That was it, though. Just us. Sure, the media ate up the story of your murder like jackals, but it was just us nine."

"Just nine?" Yang found that very hard to believe.

"Most of the people stirred up by the news only cared that the White Fang was making moves again. The only people who cared about _you_ were the ones that went to your funeral." Her words were laden with ice, sending her spine into nervous convulsions. "Blake wept the entire time. When was the last time you spoke to her? Do you even remember?" Yang remained silent. "She held out hope that you'd get better, pick yourself up. She didn't give up on you, Yang."

Her hands stretched up to swallow her face, tears threatening to spill through her knotted fingers. _Damn it. I shouldn't have asked. I don't know what I expected_. It was too easy to picture Blake sitting alone in front of her casket, weeping at the loss of her closest friend, who she'd not spoken to in months. A black seed of guilt sprouted in her gut.

"Yang… I'm sorry. That was unkind of me. Take a deep breath. We are powerful beings here. Negative thoughts aren't just unhealthy for us anymore. They're actively dangerous." She nodded at the warp.

"It's hard." Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

"I know." Think of Ruby." Yang did so, and felt a measure of relief seeped through her.

"How did you know Ruby helps?"

"I read your mind Yang. I also know you had a crush on one of the Achieve Men since you were twelve."

"Whoa," Yang giggled a bit, wiping at her eyes. "That's way too personal!" Weiss smiled too, but it wasn't her most convincing effort. It was still strange to think Weiss had been inside her mind. Out of everyone in this insane galaxy, at least it was a friend. It was a small comfort.

"But I know because Ruby helps me too." Combing her voluminous hair behind her ears, Yang eyed her friend. "Even though I haven't thought of her in a long while."

"And what about your Emperor?"

"_Our_ Emperor Yang." She took another swallow of wine. "But yes, He helps as well. I don't expect you to understand. Not fully, and not just yet. Emperor knows I didn't when I first arrived." Her eyes looked out at the vast emptiness of the warp, searching the ceaseless currents. "But no. Prayers help. As for Ruby… she's always been a beacon to me in this horrid place. Same as you."

"But not in the same way." Yang said.

"No. Not quite the same." Weiss admitted, staring into the depths the warp. Yang wasn't sure, but she could almost feel her friend's heartbreak, taste the salt tears on her tongue.

"I'm… sorry, Weiss. In another life, we'd be sisters-in-law." She gave Weiss her best smile, and she returned it, but her eyes did not leave the Empyrean.

"You think?"

"Ruby would've come around eventually. She wasn't exactly boy-crazy to begin with. And you still love her, don't you? Having a giant-ass ship and enough power to turn planets into glass didn't take that away from you. I know it." Yang said. The words were true, even if she couldn't say why. Weiss didn't reply for awhile.

"Do you know what I named my 'giant-ass ship'?" Yang shook her head. "_The Scythe of Morning, _after your sister. After the hope she gave me. The hope she gave to all of us." Another pause. "Thank you, Yang. Your words… mean a lot. And what about her? Do you think she's out there?" She said, gesturing at the colorful abyss.

"She could be. I died. You did too. And we both know what happened to Ruby." Weiss nodded. "It's… I don't know. It's hard to say. The possibility of seeing her again. Weiss, it's crazy to even consider."

"Speaking honestly, Yang," Weiss began, "I gave it some more thought. I want to see her more than anything else in the galaxy. More than anything than I've ever wanted in my entire life. But could you see Ruby here? Can you see her marching into the kind of combat we've seen? Fighting the monsters we fight?" Weiss' words struck a chord within her.

"I think she'd do whatever it took."  
"She would hate this place. You're right, she'd do what she could. But she would be miserable. As much as I wish I could see her again, I love her too much to subject her to the Imperium." Weiss deflated, a long hiss of breath leaving her lips. "Would you want this for her?" Yang sighed.

"I don't know." She replied. Weiss was right. Even though the possibility of seeing Ruby again tore set her chest to heaving, Ruby deserved the peace she died for.

"Honestly, even with all I've said… I don't know either. What I _do_ know is that once Abaddon is dead, we will scour the Imperium, regardless of whether or not she _should_ be here. If she isn't, it is our loss, not hers. Nothing new to us. And if she is, she shouldn't have to suffer this galaxy alone. No one should."

"Weiss…" Her friend had trailed off, staring into space while grief-stained salt leaked from the corners of her eyes. She put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so glad I found you. A familiar face in all this insanity… well, you're right. We're not alone anymore."

"And if we're successful in our endeavors, no one in this galaxy will ever be alone again." Weiss replied. "Fear and suspicion are rife in the Imperium, and it only serves to feed the arch-foe even further."

"But we're going to fix it." Yang said, recalling her friend's words.

"We're going to do our damndest." She said, smiling once more.

"Care to explain exactly how? It's not exactly a simple twelve-step process." Weiss shook her head.

"Not here. Later, I promise." Yang sighed, letting the matter drop for now. Weiss certainly enjoys her waiting. She nudged her friend's power armor.

"You never got past my funeral, you know."

"I didn't!" Weiss said, realizing. With a chuckle, she took another sip of wine. "We got carried away. I'm sorry. What would you like to hear about first?"

"Blake." Yang answered immediately. Weiss words had cut deeper than she let on. The fate of her best friend... hopefully Remnant had been kind to the faunus girl.

"Blake… didn't take your death well, as you can imagine. It took her a few years to recover. But she became a formidable woman in her own right. When Ozpin stepped down as Beacon's Headmaster, she was there to take his place." Yang beamed.

"Professor Belladona… it's got a ring to it!"

"No one thought so more than herself. She _excelled_ there. Whatever support the White Fang had after killing you, it evaporated once she took charge. Placing a faunus on of one of the most powerful and prestigious seats of power." She shook her head, smiling. "Remnant. Emperor, I thought I'd _forgotten_ it all."

"You haven't though."  
"No. Just…" She sat back in her seat. "Just… pushed it down. I've been very busy these past few decades. I am not the Weiss Schnee you knew on Remnant." Her words rang across the observation chamber, silence her answer. It was Yang's turn to sigh once more.

"I know." She punched her shoulder pauldron, knuckles ringing on the ceramite. "But you're close enough. Now c'mon, Blake was a busy kitty, I bet she had more on her plate than being Headmistress."

"Well, she married Sage." Yang paused_. Sage? They'd spoken three or four times at best. Holy Terra, how much did I miss?_

"I… uh… Sage?"

"Sage."

"That's… wow. I can't say I expected that." Weiss smiled.

"He took up a professorship at Beacon after Blake took over for Ozpin. One thing led to another I guess." She paused, resting a hand on Yang's knee. "They are very happy." Yang nodded, a smile on her lips. _Good. She deserves that much._ "Hell, last I heard, she's gained three rambunctious grandchildren."

"No!" Yang said in disbelief.

"I tell you no lies, Yang Xiao Long. Still Headmistress too." Weiss offered her the bottle of wine again. _Fuck it_. Smothering her better judgment under a blanket of vicarious joy, she took it. _Sorry Rhain. This one's for you. And for you too, Blake. The drink we should have shared at your wedding._

It tasted good, but Yang was never a sommelier. The warm trickle of alcohol running down her throat was enough.

"Easy there, Yang." She took one last swallow, handing the bottle back to Weiss.

"Sorry. I'm just… proud of her. She deserved to be happy." She chuckled. "Weird to think of her as a grandma though. Especially since I'm still in my twenties. What's up with that anyway? Why did I arrive here at the same age, when you showed up fifty years younger?" Weiss shrugged.

"I can't really say, beyond guessing at some vague machinations of the Empyrean." Yang appraised her friend.

"You've never looked into it?"

"Investigating the secrets of the warp would mean our deaths. Or worse." Weiss said, pointing at the eddies beyond the Gellar field. "That is what waits for those foolish enough to attempt at puzzling out its mysteries." The cold hiss of her words made Yang shudder. She dropped the subject.

"So what else happened on Remnant? What did Team JNPR make of life?" Weiss' brow furrowed, remembering.

"Well, Pyrrha proposed to Jaune a few years after you passed." Yang snorted, hiding her laugh behind her hand.

"Oh that is too precious."

"A few kids, as far as I can recall. Then… well… Pyrrha…" Her tone had taken a wary turn. "They never gave up their lives as huntsmen. When a few of the criminals we put away escaped… Pyrrha paid with her life."

"No."

"Neo did it. The fucking warp-spawned cunt." Weiss spat. Yang's fingers curled into fists. "Easy. It shocked me too. Emperor, that was so long ago. Jaune was never quite the same. He started sailing a few years after her death." She shrugged. "Eventually, he stopped coming to port."

"Golden Throne." Yang found herself whispering.

"I'm sorry. If you want me to stop-"

"No. I need to hear this. I should have…" She trailed off, taking a deep, rattling breath. Her fingers combed through her hair. "Fuck. I'd forgotten about everyone." Meeting Weiss' glacier-melt gaze, she continued. "You know, I accepted the Imperium as my home in an instant. Fuck." She spat. "I _actually_ thought there wasn't anything left for me on Remnant." She sat back on the couch, leather enveloping her, swallowing her. The Empyrean whirled and danced, the sight alien yet entrancing. "I was so wrong. I…I should have been there. I miss it so much." Weiss leaned forward, putting an armored hang on her knee. It meant it to be reassuring, but all Yang felt was cold metal.

"We wanted that too, back when it was still possible. I don't blame you Yang, it's just unfortunate things turned out the way they did." Yang scoffed. _Understatement of the century_.

"Well, what about you, Weiss?"

"My life on Remnant? Nothing in particular stands out."

"What about your asshole dad?" Weiss laughed, a vicious grin splitting her face.

"Oh, nothing much. Just strong-armed him out of his own company. Even Winter helped with that one." Winter Schnee… a frail and sickly girl, as far as Yang could remember. She knew Weiss relationship with her was strained at best, but the siblings still bore a mutual hatred for their father. "The SDC was in my capable hands from there on out. Fixed it up best I could." She shook her head with a reluctant laugh. "I'm sorry. Discussing the SDC... it's strange."

"Why's that?" Weiss nodded towards the glass wall that kept the warp at bay beyond its thick plated glass.

"I thought my father was this vicious, evil man. I mean, he _was_… by Remnant standards. Here, he wouldn't be more than a pissant backwater Governor with a chip on his shoulder. But I've done things here he couldn't even _dream_ of. Things that make him look like Saint Celestine in comparison."

"That bad?" Yang found herself reaching for the wine. At least Weiss had the decency to feel bad about it. _In the Imperium_, she realized, _that's about as much as you can ask for. Doesn't mean I fucking like it._

"That bad. I'd give you the specifics, but I… I'm not sure you'd still want to be my friend. Emperor knows I don't have enough of them." She whispered into her hands.

"Ice Queen, the Imperium isn't exactly Remnant. I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." She took another drink. The wine was very sweet, and it helped silence the gnawing doubt that lingered in her mind. "I'm sorry for asking so many questions." Weiss waved her concerns away.

"I offered to answer them. And it feels good to talk about Remnant. It's refreshing." She looked out at the warp again before turning her gaze on Yang. "So thanks for listening. It feels good to… smile again." Yang embraced her, catching the Inquisitor by surprise.

"Thank _you_ Weiss. Thanks for reminding me about home. I needed it."

They discussed Remnant and their coming mission for the next few hours. By the end of it all, Yang's head was swimming with information and Weiss' heady wine. Despite the grief of discovering her friends' fates, despite the regret and self-pity, it felt good to discuss Remnant with her. Cathartic. What happened, happened. Sure the whole situation sucked a fat one, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. At least her friends saw some happiness in their lives. In the end, that's all Yang could ask for.

When she returned to her barracks, the somber mood hit her at once. Many of the bunks in barracks 0914 stood empty, with immaculate, untouched sheets. Ros waved her over, where she sat with Caolin, sipping at canteens of amasec.

"Hey guys."

"You're alive." Ros said, scooting over to make room for Yang. She was in her tank-top, her shoulder bound in clean linen, her arm resting in a sling. "I was afraid our Lady'd gone and flayed you apart with her mind." Yang shook her head, smiling.

"Not quite." Ros gave her a canteen, sloshing with drink.

"Yeah, about our Lady." Caolin said, leaning over. "You never told us she was a total babe." He whispered. Ros' mouth fell open in horror. Yang, caught in the middle of a sip, almost choked on her drink. A little amasec leaked onto her chin, which she wiped away in an effort to constrain her mirth.

"Sorry Caolin, I… uh… I don't think you're her type."

"Yang is her _Representative_, Caolin! Emperor be good, are you that dense?"

"Why… you almost sound jealous!" Ros gave an indignant squawk, before shooting her good elbow into his guts. Yang just laughed and laughed and laughed. It felt good to laugh.

* * *

Maion lived for the hunt. It had been many years since the eldar woman began her journey on the Path of the Warrior, but the sensation of preying upon the agents of the Dark Gods never failed to bring her satisfaction. Her comrades flanked her, the steps of the Striking Scorpions silent against the branches that bore them aloft. No sound, no whispers befouled the still and quiet night. The hunters of Il-Kaithe prowled under the light of a full moon, dappled in shade by a canopy of towering trees.

They were close now. She could feel it. Her Exarch's mind touched upon hers, a scalpel left ever-sharpened by war.

_Be ready, _he told them. Her scorpion chainsword activated, the hushed blade thirsting for blood. Agents of the arch-foe had infiltrated this human planet a week ago, an insidious touch that grasped in the dark for some nefarious aim.

The noxious vapors of the warp wafted across her mind, spilling off the lumbering forms in the distance. There were ten of them, clad in bulky, inelegant armor, crimson with ancient red paint and the dried blood of countless battles.

But soon, they would pollute the galaxy no more. The eldar of Il-Kaithe are the vanguard against the Dark Gods, and the Striking Scorpions are the vanguard of Il-Kaithe. Many of her comrades did not believe Maion was worthy of the honor afforded by the Aspect Shrine, but their thoughts were as the beating wings of gnats.

The towering humans remained unaware of their presence, as their prey always were. They were the elite warriors of chaos, corrupted from the ranks of the astartes, but this would not save them. Fluttering prayer-sheets to their horrid masters adorned their shoulders, stained evil scripts covering their armor.

"Something's wrong, Maliph." One of them said, his voice like knives scraping a whetstone. "I smell it in the air."

"Are you a dog now?" Their leader replied, focused on their destination. "Be silent, or I will sew your mouth shut myself."

_Now_.

Falling from the trees, the Scorpions struck. Her blade soared into the back of her enemy, the one who had voiced a complaint to his master. The blade whirred and spat, chewing through the gaps in his ceramite with ease. Black ichor poured through, splashing against her emerald armor. He cried out in pain and rage before she jerked her sword upright, grinding the monomolecular edge of her sword against his foul heart.

Screams and the chorus of war filled the night. More humans fell, eviscerated before they could respond. Responding with uncanny alacrity, their bolt-guns barked, tracer fire shattering the trees around them, spitting broken bark and lichens. A few rounds struck home, her brethren rendered into meat before they could strike.

With a cry, her shuriken pistol barked, the whizzing rounds slicing apart the back of a man that bore a two-handed bolter. He turned to face her, hurling the colossal weapon at her when he saw she was too close. Ducking under it, she lunged forward with her sword, hoping to catch him off guard. He avoided her strike. Laughing, he drew an enormous ebony knife.

"Your witchery ends here, alien." He said, advancing. The blade hissed past her, her finely wrought wraithbone helmet flowing like water under the blow. Bringing her pistol up, she fired a salvo into his face. The shuriken ripped his helmet apart, shredding what remained of the skin on his face.

He stumbled back before spinning around and grabbing Maion. Armored fingers wrapped tight around her neck, talons scraping against her aspect armor as he choked the life from her. He beamed, sharp, shining teeth glowing in the moonlight. His knife plunged forward, screaming for her death.

Her aura shunted the blade aside.

The human gaped at her, dark pitted eyes spreading wide in surprise. Before he could strike once more, her chainsword found his neck, severing his head in a single stroke. The fingers about her neck slackened and fell away, corrupted blood pumping from the stump of his neck.

She fell deftly, her feet landing on the forest lichens without a sound. The humans had been defeated, and their corpses littered the earth, surrounded by eldar dead. Eight of her comrades had fallen, torn apart by the unremitting power of the traitorous astartes.

Thanking the gods for the protective light of her soul, she sheathed her weapons. One enemy still lived, spitting blood upon her Exarch.

"Tell us what your master seeks." He said, his sword poised above the human's neck. It laughed, a mad dog howling at the moon.

"You will discover for yourself, alien. Josephus will not be denied his prize."

"Tell us, spawn of chaos!" More mad laughter. With a roar, her Exarch jammed his sword into his throat, and the cackling peals drowned under a choking rush of ichor. He stood there, gore dripping from his weapon.

_Exarch_? She asked.

_We must return to Il-Kaithe at once. Collect the spirit stones, Maion._

_Of course._ She stooped to her task, finding the torn and bloody corpse of Lorian, his blade tucked into the armor of the enemy. A good death. Her hand passed over the stone, slow and reverent in her touch. Lorian had never been her friend. He detested her and the light of her soul, which shone so bright in these dark times.

_But now you lie dead_. She thought. _And I still live_.

The spirit stone pulsed warmly in her hands.

* * *

**A/N: I smell shenanigans! I hope you enjoyed it! There's a lot of info here, but don't think it'll be the last time Remnant comes up in conversation. If your favorite RWBY character wasn't mentioned, it's because there wasn't an organic way to fit them into the dialogue. Don't like it? Tough titty. :D**

**Some other notes: not 100% if the fight between the CSM and the SS is legit (number-wise, ambush advantage, etc.). As it is, I think it went about as well as it could have for Maion and her comrades.**

**Oh yeah, and Sage/Blake? Is that even a thing? I don't know, it was just there to emphasize how much Yang missed by getting offed.**

**Yang also sympathizes with Weiss, which is why she's not trying to mash her into a pulp with Ember Celica. Despite all that's changed, they're still friends. Yang's smart enough to know when it's okay to raise a stink and when it isn't. That being said, she's still not 100% cool with it all. More on that later! ;)**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I know I did! Please, leave a review! Let me know what you think! Give me your WMGs, theories, criticisms, all of it's welcome!**

**Review Replies:**

**Gafgar: Not decay, but rather signs of...change. Hope you enjoyed it! **

**Guest: Your review confuses me. I appreciate it, but it's confusing haha**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Had a giggle about the proposed first meeting. :D As for Ruby and Blake, these lips are sealed!**

**Cullinto: Indeed, that is a feeling!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I'm glad you saw that! The more people it helps, the better! So pumped you're enjoying the story!**

**RED Roman Pyro: Agreed! (It's why I put it in there after all! :P)**

**OBSERVER01: Well, 'Freezerburn' _is_ a combo attack they use... but I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**Dom380: I can't tell you, that would ruin the story! But I'm glad you're having fun! :D**

**coduss: The 'omakes' are also a part of the story, so don't expect too much silliness from them. *mournfully plays Awake on repeat***

**reality deviant: Thanks!**

**Mintskittle: I think she's got a handle on things. She knows what power swords can do, I don't think she'll accidentally dice up any comrades or allied armor. :) Hopefully, I addressed your ammunition concerns! Also, you were right about the Exterminatus, but Weiss was careful enough to explain why it was necessary. She doesn't want a rampaging Yang on her hands!**

**TheSpawn117: That would indeed be very bad!**

**Nemris: Holy cow! Those are awesome! Glad you're here man! Hope you liked the chapter!**

**biolaj1998: Sorry haha**

**LegionOfMisfits: I named a side character 'Serviceman Chung', you could say I'm an ME fan! ;) But I actually didn't think of Thane when crafting Amat, but the comparisons do hold true. Cool observation! I've put a lot of thought into his creation, so I hope you won't have to hate him anytime soon. **

**Tuska25: Interesting theories!**

**Charmcaster the Mad: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the series, and I hope you catch up!**

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**Thanks for all the reviews! Bring me more! MORE! :D Seriously though, you guys rock.**

**Next chapter: psyker training begins...**


	18. Though the Warp is Clouded

**A/N: Woot, more RWBYhammer 40k! On a side note, is anyone else pumped for Total War: Warhammer? I'm not a huge fan of the fantasy world, but it'll be cool to see how CA handles the franchise!**

**Alright, Chapter 17, let's go, go, go! :D**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 17: Though the Warp is Clouded**

_"I shall forever walk in His light, His spear and shield in hand. I shall forever keep his peace, for it is eternal in the making." – Ranshan 'Yǒng' or prayer-chant._

"This _sucks_!" Yang cried, throwing her hands up in frustration. The Lady Inquisitor sighed. She knew Yang would make a difficult disciple, but even with her enthusiastic can-do attitude, the going was slow. In the empty observation deck, the Empyrean gazed upon their training. Her blonde friend and pupil sat in the center of a snow-white glyph, restricting her connection to the warp down to a mere trickle. It also warded off the interference from outside the Gellar field.

"I don't care. Again." She said, pouring herself another glass of wine. Her hallowed armor was absent today, in its place a simple second skin of combat leather, hardened at its edges by pads of black plas-steel. An aura-enhanced purity seal hid in the pocket of her duster, ready at a moment's notice to sever the connection completely. The Lady Inquisitor scowled. Her caution and preparedness still felt inadequate compared to the danger Yang posed. _But that's why I'm here, I suppose._ She thought. _Anything I can do to prevent Amat from having to complete his mission is worth pursuing._

"Bite me, Ice Queen!" Yang growled in frustration, thick beads of sweat rolling down her pale skin and soaking into her tank top. The Lady Inquisitor ignored her complaints.

"You're done once you knock that helmet from its spot." She'd constructed an impromptu psyker sanctioning curriculum for Yang, the first step of which was basic telekinesis. Normally, acolytes wouldn't be trusted with such a task until at least their third year. But they didn't have the luxury of time required by the more orthodox methods, and her aura served as an acceptable buffer. "Remember, it's not like using your aura."

* * *

"I know that, Weiss!" Yang sat down in a huff. Her hands worked through her hair, rubbing the back of her head. "But if you… could… uh… explain it again, that would be super helpful." It had all been so fast the first time around… Weiss chuckled, smiling into her wine. After taking a sip, she leaned forward, meeting Yang's eyes with a hard glare.

"Perhaps it would be best to start with this: have you considered unlocking anyone's aura?" Yang nodded.

"Of couse. I haven't done it though. They'd freak." Weiss shook her head, now solemn and stern.

"Your footslogger friends' surprise would be the least of your concerns." She said, her eyes parsing the blooming miasmas of the warp.

"Why? What would happen if I did?" Yang knew the warp was dangerous. The violent impulses and whispering voices taught her that lesson all on their own. Not to mention the sheer destructive power Weiss had wrought upon the traitor regiment.

"Our aura is the light of our soul. With enough training and practice, our souls are shields. On Remnant, they protected us, kept us safe from harm. In the Imperium, souls are _prey_. Daemons feast upon them, corrupt them, devour them whole." Yang's mouth fell open. Every human, faunus and animal on Remnant had a soul. Even as a child, Yang could summon forth globs of ghost-flame, relishing the warming glow it gave her as the golden light filled her body. Her soul was as much a part of her as her arms and legs. The idea that it could be torn from her wrapped unfamiliar tendrils of fear around her spine.

"Seriously?" Weiss nodded, the blue in her eyes cold enough to freeze magma.

"Seriously. And I've… experimented with unlocking auras, Yang." Weiss shuddered. Weiss, the embittered Inquisitor _shuddered_. "The citizens of the Imperium spend their entire lives building mental walls against the whispers of the warp. But to wear one's soul on their sleeves as we do, it connects us with the warp on a wholly unique level. Our souls act as the channel for all others that reside in the warp." Not for the first time, Yang felt like a very small fish in an abyssal ocean, swimming with sharks she couldn't see.

"I thought the warp was just emotions given physical form." At least, that's what Vadiik told her.

"That's a simpler way of putting it, but it's no less true. In fact, the Immaterium is the amalgamation of all the souls that there ever were or will be." Weiss looked at her, an invisible burden crushing the older woman's frame. She looked so much smaller without her armor.

"Wow."

"Yes. Like I said, we are connected to this maelstrom by our auras, which give us unprecedented power. They shield us from the horrors of the warp at the same time they call them down around our heads." Yang looked at her hands. It certainly explained the strange crackling sensation that sat on the edges of her aura. To think that the same power she'd been born with was the gateway to realm of incomprehensible power and madness was insane to consider. "It's not an invincible barrier however, as your episodes during warp-travel have revealed. Normal guardsmen would have fallen to such whisperings in seconds, no matter how strong their faith. But you knew the inherent wrongness of it all."

"I did." Yang said, goosebumps rippling over her skin as she remembered the episodes that plagued her.

"That was your aura aiding you, allowing you to fight against the foul touch of the warp. It connects you to it, but does not do so recklessly." Weiss leaned back into the couch, pouring herself more wine. "Now, take someone like Jaune, who needed assistance to unlock his aura. On Remnant, he was fine. Here…." Weiss paused, her lips quivering as they searched for the right phrase. "Unlocking one's aura makes them a psyker in an instant, battering down the mental barriers they've constructed over the course of their entire lives. It is like trying to light a candle in a windstorm. Even if the flame catches, its life is measured in seconds." Weiss took a long drink.

"What happened when you tried unlocking someone's aura?" Yang asked. There was no response. "Weiss?"

"They were consumed. Mind, body, and soul." Weiss looked up at her, age-old guilt watering her eyes. "And I did it again. And again. Until I was sure it could not be done."

"Weiss…"

"Damn it Yang, don't give me that look. What happened to them… it still hurts. But we both know I had to try. Can you imagine what the Imperium could accomplish with a cadre of aura-users?" Yang nodded slowly. It hurt to picture Weiss' experiments. And that she'd been forced to repeat it. Over and over again. But she couldn't deny how useful auras could be here. And that frightened her more than the concept of losing her soul. "I've also considered trying on an Astartes."

"That… doesn't strike me as a good idea." Weiss shook her head.

"It is far too risky too attempt. There exists a possibility their minds are better suited to handle the mental burden, but there's no guarantees." Yang sighed, fingers massaging her temples.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. It's just a lot." She couldn't resent Weiss for trying to help people. It wasn't her fault it didn't work out. Still, she could stand to be a little less… ruthless about it all. She sighed. "I think I'm ready to try again." Weiss nodded, pointing at the helmet that still rested atop its ashtray.

"Very well. Begin. Use your aura as a gateway. Feel that crackling on the edge of your soul and tap into it." Yang breathed deep before trying once more. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Ghost-fire licked at her flaxen hair as she struggled. Though the seal on her shoulder pulsed and glowed, the helmet did not budge.

"I… can't."

"You can. Open your connection. The warp is perilous, and you must learn to swim its currents, harness its power. Reach out, beyond yourself."

Yang frowned, reaching out with her arm, reaching for the helmet. She felt her aura coursing through her body, the energy flowing from her heart to her fingertips. She felt the razor edge it bore, slicing, bladed channels that pulsed within her. With a strained cry, she harnessed it and pushed it beyond her, power lashing out from every pore.

And the Observation Deck disappeared, swallowed by a rush of swirling colors that filled every corner of the room and every fiber of her being. She was set adrift in a merciless ocean of raw energy, its waves crashing on her mind like sixty-foot waves, hammering, pounding, _hating_. The voices came back, screaming now, howling. But as she struggled to draw breath through the iron vices around her lungs, a beacon of clean golden light punched through the chaos, a bastion of order and peace. Yang reached out towards it, hoping the light would save her, rescue her from the noises. _The Emperor_. She realized. _That's the Emperor_. His power was distant, but His warmth was tangible and whole. Just looking at it dimmed the madness that assaulted her mind, pushing the voices into silent oblivion. Another tower of light approached her, this one white and sharp like a scalpel.

A hand met her shoulder, cold flesh against her own.

And she was back in the Observation deck.

"GAH!" Yang gasped, clenching at her arm." Sweat ran down her face, coursing rivers of salted effort that dripped onto the cold metal floor. The glyph below her feet pulsed in time with the images on her shoulder, keeping the worst of the warp's touch at arm's length. Weiss had a hand on her. The gesture was familiar, reassuring. "Damn it! That… ow! What the _fuck_?" She breathed, hissing through clenched teeth. Her head was pounding, blood pumping like a hammer against the anvil of her brain.

"I see you were successful."

"You could say that," Yang breathed.

"Did you see Him?" Weiss asked, leaning forward.

"Of course." There's no one else she could be referring to. Yang had seen the Emperor. "It's… holy _shit_. What is he? How can… how can he be so bright in all that insanity?" Her answer was as immediate as it was chilling.

"He is the Emperor." Yang shuddered, the sweat that trickled down her arms now cold and frigid. The worship… it almost made sense now. Not that she'd be singing His hymns anytime soon. "You opened your mind to the warp." Weiss continued, wearing a small smile. "Congratulations, your lesson for today is over." Yang shot up, puzzled. The helmet remained untouched.

"I thought you said-"

"I lied." Weiss said with a shrug. Yang grinned, frustration vanishing under the weight of her relief. "It takes most acolytes years of prayer and preparation, staring at the same task, to reach what you've accomplished in just a few hours."

"So I'm just a natural then?"

"Well, the fastest I've seen was thirty seconds." Yang recoiled.

"Who managed to do _that_ in thirty seconds?!"

"I did." She said with another grin. Yang rolled her eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"You're as humble as ever, Ice Queen. So what's next?" Weiss shook her head. The ventilation creaked and whirred, bringing in a gust of stale air.

"You've learned to voluntarily open a connection to the warp. What you've experienced before this was one-way events, the warp probing at your aura. But now that you can access it at will, you can harness it to alter reality."

"I… wow. I can change _reality_?" It was hard to picture harnessing the storm that had almost drowned her. Let alone being able to tamper with the fabric of space and time.

"Within limits. Psychic power manifests itself differently in each of its wielders." Weiss stretched, couch-bound for far too long. "Anyways, that should be good for now. We'll start again tomorrow." Yang nodded, rubbing the back of her neck and grimacing.

"Same time?"

"Same time." Yang picked up her rucksack, slinging it over her shoulder. She stopped.

"Hey Weiss? Can I ask you something?" She nodded. "Since when did you start wearing leather?" Weiss scoffed, a grin spreading across her face.

"When I left the Schola. Good skirts are rare in the Imperium." Yang laughed. "Truly though, good work today, Yang. Now go on, enjoy the company of your friends. I have business to attend to, astropaths to conduct."

"I think I'm going to shower off first." Yang replied, feeling like she needed to wring out her tank top. Weiss laughed, and waved to her as she left the Observation Deck.

* * *

"Yang Xiao Long." The Lady Inquisitor muttered, staring into the depths of her wine. She hated lying to her friend. The experiments she had conducted yielded horrific results, that much was true. The lie began in the false remorse she'd professed. When it came to bringing aura to the Imperium of Man, the ends justified the means every single time. Without her experiments, her lack of knowledge regarding her own power and ability would be tantamount to negligence. Regret was for the weak-willed and the tremulous. "Amat, what are your thoughts on my Representative?" The Vindicare assassin removed himself from the rafters, falling from the ceiling with practiced silence. He knelt before his Lady, his exitus rifle hung across his back, the final precaution.

"She is unique." He began. "As is your relationship with her. You speak as if you two have been acquainted for many years." He looked up at her. "Though such a thing should be impossible. "

"Do you trust me, Amat?" The assassin nodded without hesitation.

"Of course, my Lady. The years I've spent in your service have left no doubt in my mind." He paused, taking a long breath before continuing. "Although... may I speak freely?" She waved her glass at him, encouraging him to go on. "I know she is not what she seems. You are hiding something about her." The Lady Inquisitor chuckled.

"I _am_ an Inquisitor. That I keep secrets should not surprise you." He shook his head.

"Of course not, my Lady." She could hear the smile in his words, hidden away by his spy mask. "I just need to know if the parameters of my mission change." She scanned his mind for his truest thoughts on the matter. He spoke his mind, and his puzzlement was tangible. "And I apologize for my forwardness."

"Worry not." She found her gaze drawn once more onto the Immaterium. "How goes your illustration of Saint Sabbat on Herodor?" The assassin prayed in his own unique way. While others memorized hymns and prayers, Amat preferred the creation of art, lionizing Imperial saints and heroes in reverential detail.

"Her face is… clouded." The Lady Inquisitor smiled.

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Two weeks after her first psychic training session, Yang and the rest of the Woadian 111th made planetfall on Ranshu. Five weeks ago, many of the world's factions fell to the Dark Gods, uniting against the largest state, which remained loyal to the Imperium. _I hope this Josephus person's hiding here_, she thought as the lander roared. According to Weiss, he was behind the chaotic nightmares that had previously plagued her. Much to her relief, the glyphs on her arm kept the dark dreams at bay, as well as ridding her of the flashing bloodlust.

The red light flickered on, the sign that their descent would soon end. Shaking and rattling in their boots, Yang grinned. Once more unto the breach.

As usual, blue war paint stained them all, provided by Ros and Mael. They were landing as the vanguard, one of the first platoons to reach the surface. According to the briefing they'd received, Ranshu was a feudal world. Vadiik had told her about such worlds, their citizenry wallowing in technological ignorance and petty power struggles. However, Weiss mentioned she'd made contact with the planet a few days ago, which meant at the very least they could communicate with the Imperium.

When the doors slid open, she found a savannah before her, wide open fields suffused with green-blue grass and trees size of skyscrapers. They were sparse, but each one was an ecosystem unto itself, surrounded by shrubbery and teeming with life. The ribcage of some leviathan beast rested in the fields, each alabaster spear of bone thrusting several stories into the air. Storm clouds gathered in the distance, shrouding the sun from sight. Yang gave a low whistle as they stepped off.

"Here I was thinking every other planet in the Imperium was just gravel and sand." She said.

"They lacked Woadia's rustic charm." Caolin suggested, marveling at the landscape. Yang nodded.

The lander took off, revealing their destination. The sprawling city of Shao-la towered before them, built into and atop a squat, coal-stoned mountain, studded with deposits of yellow quartz. It was guarded on three sides by colossal walls of black stone, and crowning the mountain's peak stood a castle, sized on the typically overbearing scale of the Imperium.

"Dust." Yang whispered. She'd thought she couldn't be astounded any more, but the Imperium kept finding ways to surprise her. In front of the walls, the local garrison marched in step, waving colorful banners. Horses stormed by in their hundreds, their riders puissant and garishly decorated men. During the briefing, Captain Lyrasson said they were here to defend the Lady Inquisitor while she conducted her investigation. Why they needed the whole regiment was beyond her.

"Are those… spears?" Caolin asked, pulling out his spotter's opticals. Yang squinted. Sure enough, each soldier was armed with nothing more than a shield, some ratty chainmail, and a thick-bladed spear. They looked like something out of one of Blake's fantasy novels.

Jorvis led Gamma platoon onward, directing them towards the city. The columns of soldiers hailed them as they approached, an uproarious cry that shook their stomachs with its sheer volume. Despite their enthusiastic greeting, the soldiers looked weary and haggard. Dried bloodstains adorned their armor, and a few suffered the telltale brand of lasgun wounds. Ros squirmed under their glares, holding her lasgun tight.

"How long have they been fighting?" She hissed.

"No idea. They are a bit… hungry looking." Caolin added. "Emperor though, can you imagine? Having to fight without a lasgun?" He shook his head. "And for that matter, where are the damnable heretics?"

"We must have scared them off." Yang said, beaming. It certainly seemed to be the case. The ground they trod upon was well-packed and muddy, scattered with trash-heaps and footprints. Besides the scenery, the remains of a broken and gutted siege encampment surrounded them. Abandoned tents and boot-churned mud stretched for a few miles around the city. He laughed.

"Yes, we few agri-worlders have come to destroy whole legions of sword-swinging cultists." Ros shrugged.

"Think about it, Caolin." She nodded to the woadian standard-bearer, who marched a few platoons ahead of them. "We represent the Inquisition now."

"Huh." He grinned, the scar on his lip spreading wide. "I kinda forgot about that." He clapped Ros on the back. "We _are_ pretty scary."

"The black armor helps." Yang said. Mael chuckled. The soldiers had been eyeing his rocket launcher with reverential awe, and he enjoyed the attention, saluting the pikemen with a large smile. They copied his salute, eyes shining despite their weariness. "Though I can't imagine why these guys are so excited about the Inquisition stopping by." From what she'd gathered and Vadiik's lectures, the Inquisition wasn't a very popular organization.

"The Inquisition doesn't usually bring ten thousand-odd troops with it." Ros said. "At least, I don't think it does. Our Lady must have told them we were bringing reinforcements or something."A low horn sounded from the locals, echoed by others of its kind. Its cry was a low growl, animalistic in nature.

"Open the gates!"

"Open the gates!" The cry went around, accompanied by more horns. The great engraved doors before them swung open, splitting the colossal Imperial Skull it bore in two. They entered the city, marveling at the walls as they passed under them. They had to be more than ten yards thick. Inside, a honeycomb of dwellings choked the hard-packed dirt roads, swelling up the side of the mountain. Apartments coated the interior wall, sprawling complexes that bustled with activity. Laundry lines flapped in the rising wind, and curious residents gaped at the Woadians from small-framed windows.

The roads were wide, and surrounded by towering brick buildings, interlocked on their tallest levels by rope bridges, laden with observers. The roads themselves were home to a seething mass of humanity, which cheered and chanted in the local dialect. Gamma platoon almost halted their march.

"Fucking hell." Jorvis breathed, taken off-guard. His metallic eye twitched and whirred, scanning the crowd.

"Sir?" Ros asked. The joyous tumult surprised even Yang. Based on the briefing, she knew a saboteur had burned their food stores. She'd expected a collection of emaciated and threadbare wretches, and while bones knifed through their clothing, their eyes bore radiant yellow irises, their lips wearing hopeful smiles. They'd survived the siege as well as they could.

"Our orders are still to rendezvous in the city square… for now, parade formation! Let's give them something to cheer about!" Jorvis bellowed, raising his chainsword above his head, a rare grin on his face.

"AYE!" Gamma Platoon replied. They closed their marching order, striding in step with their lasguns pressed tight against their shoulders. The 111th's disorganized entry became rigid and structured, their boots beating a steady _crunch, crunch, crunch_ into the dirt streets. Other platoons followed suit, pressing together to follow Gamma Platoon's example. The crowd went wild when they reached it, splitting apart to allow them entry. Yang couldn't help but beam when the thankful prayers and jubilant noises washed over them. Even Ros wore a large grin, relieved from her usual dour mood by the crowd's infectious enthusiasm and gratitude.

Yang waved to them, and they waved back, many of the men in attendance following her with gaping mouths and wide-eyed stares. She giggled; blowing kisses and watching them topple over each other, desperate to intercept her favor.

"I think I like this place." She said. Ros rolled her eyes, but the dismissive gesture didn't hold for long. Caolin was doing his best to play the part of a gallant hero, puffing his chest out and brandishing his long-las. Prayer papers fluttered over them, caught by the wind and sent scattering across their path. Yang caught one, smiling at the childish scrawl that filled the linen-white paper. She tucked it into her flak armor.

Just before they reached the town square, a Valkyrie soared overhead, black as the smoke it bellowed and bearing a silver 'I'. Weiss was inside. Its passing sent the crowd into hysterics, hands by the thousands reaching after it. Several more fliers flanked it, each bearing enormous pallets under their berth.

The Valkyrie's hatch opened, revealing Weiss and some members of her retinue. Prop-wash buffeted the square as the Valkyrie hovered, sending the crowd into a shocked silence. Yang reminded herself that these people have probably never seen flying vehicles before.

"Greetings, people of Shao-la!" She spread her arms wide, her voice booming forth from an augmented vox-caster. "For your loyalty and tenacity in the face of the arch-foe, I present a gift from the Emperor!" The crates detached, slamming to the earth with an earth-shattering crash and spilling forth their contents. Food-packets. Hundreds of thousands of them. The voices of the crowd crescendoed, shaking the troopers in their lock-stepped boots.

"My agents will distribute this boon accordingly! The Emperor Protects!" Weiss bellowed, shaking her fist in righteous furor.

"The Emperor protects!" Jorvis echoed, raising his chainsword in a salute.

"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" The Woadians cried, surging forward to complete their new task. They were swarmed by hungry citizens, their eager hands reaching out for sustenance. Yang's heart swelled as she handed out the beige amino-slurry packets. She was helping, in a way that wasn't mindless slaughter.

"Man, if this is how the Guard gets treated, I should've joined years ago!" Caolin cried over the tumult. Ros laughed, her cheeks flushed with haste.

"Shove it up your ass, Caolin!" She said. She accepted a hug from a weeping woman after handing her family a share of rations. Ros didn't wear smiles like these very often. Yes, Yang was sure this was all some part of Weiss' ploy. They were here to guard her, not save the civilians. But even if it was disingenuous, it still sent a trickle of warming flame into her heart.

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**A/N: Sorry for the continued exposition everyone! While not as popular as wondering when and where the next Interloper will show up (or if they'll show up at all!), I have been receiving a lot of theories about the relationship between auras and psychic powers, so I hope this clears things up!**

**Also, is it legit to have them practicing warp-craft in transit? I couldn't find any solid data on the fact, and since there isn't much other place to put the training, it has to be here. If it isn't, I'm sorry, but this is one of the few things that'll just have to be inaccurate. :(**

**And yeah, Weiss definitely has something up her sleeve regarding the citizens of Shao-la. You'll have to wait and find out what it is though. :)**

**Random thought, but everyone still liking the OCs? I know they're not as important to everyone as RWBY characters and whatnot, but if you've got some spare time, I'd love to hear what you guys think.**

**Oh, don't worry about Maion, we'll get back to her in good time!**

**Review Replies:**** In general: wow, what's with the eldar hate? You guys _really_ don't like them. :(**

**Zedicus101: Maion, obviously! :D**

**reality deviant: It should be interesting...**

**Magisking: I don't remember Ruby having pointy ears... maybe I should go watch RWBY again! XD**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Oh wow! Thanks so much! I do indeed put a lot of time and thought into this, so I'm happy to see it's paying off in at least one case. :)**

**The Walrus of Eden: Well, _Maion_ has aura! There'll be more on Remnant, but it won't be discussed until later! **

**OBSERVER01: Aw, what's wrong with the eldar? **

**snoogenz: You should post your ideas! I always love hearing what people have to say! TBH, the response I got for Maion was _not_ the one I was expecting!**

**Thespurgin: Maion is eldar, not Tau. I'm sure that was just a typo! XD**

**Gafgar: Again, you guys really don't like Eldar... and their new OP codex isn't gonna help haha**

**Galm: A valid guess!**

**TheSpawn117: You and many others! I don't remember Blake being eldar either though... just particularly catty. :D**

**Dom380: I'd like to hear what you think! Everyone always has such fascinating ideas!**

**Yoshtar: Your bet's been noted! Unfortunately, I won't be going straight back to Maion, not just yet!**

**Mintskittle: Again, WHY DO PEOPLE HATE THE ELDAR SO MUCH? Well, you won't hate my version of the eldar, I can assure you of that. Although, valid points on Yang and Weiss. While Yang is pretty headstrong and a 'brute-force' puzzle-solver, she's not dumb. She recognizes that extremism is necessary, and it makes her angry. She _is_ trying to change things though!**

**Trife: I can't say! That would be telling. :3**

**Nemris: I guess it all remains to be seen!**

**LegionofMisfits: :D Sorry for a second exposition dump, but this one was pretty necessary. Had a lot of people wondering how the whole aura/psyker thing worked.**

**Charmcaster the Mad: People really like this Blake theory... :D**

**Kiku.123: Glad you're enjoying yourself!**

**ChampionoftheHive: An eldar woman apparently! **

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**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys! The story's just about to reach 300 and holy _shit_ that's awesome! I love you guys so much! Keep 'em coming! :D**


	19. In the Hall of the Scholar-King

**A/N: Chapter 18, alright, alright, alright! **

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**_Book Two: Corruption's End_**

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**-Chapter 18: In the Hall of the Scholar-King-**

_"It is with a measure of irony that I have collected my works here, volumes upon volumes of knowledge stored below a city of primitive warriors. It is my life's work, and though I will live to see it to completion, perhaps another will. My life has run its course after all, and the God-Emperor is calling these wizened bones to his side. There, perhaps, the Chariot of Redemption will find me." – Saint Totha, in his sacred memoirs._

The storm arrived three hours after their arrival in Shao-la. The ration crates still had thousands of packets left, which were disappearing at a slackening pace. Most of the citizens that welcomed them scattered before the encroaching clouds, newly acquired food tucked away in their skinny arms. Having no further orders from The Lady Inquisitor, the Woadians milled about in the town square, chatting and commenting on the earlier excitement.

"It's gonna pour." Caolin said, his scarred lips splitting into a wide smile.

"I had no idea." Ros said, slurping on a spare protein meal. Yang watched them bicker for a while, grinning. It was good to see them at it again, as they'd kept to themselves for most of the trip here. When the rain came, it hit hard, pouring giant droplets of water that lashed against the city. While the natives dove for cover, the Woadians' reaction was something else entirely.

Thousands of voices cheered, and began stripping off their flak armor, shedding it like black leaves in autumn. After almost five months away from Woadia, trapped within stale starships and desert planets, they could once more taste rainwater, feel the caress of the cool water that had fed their crops.

The frolicking began soon after, the Inquisitorial Guardsmen dancing traditional Woadian jigs while the rain washed away their sweat and grime. Yang laughed as Caolin swept Ros away, their legs kicking and pumping away in the downpour.

"It's like Goethi Festival!" Caolin bellowed, while Ros tried very hard not to smile. She failed. "Come on, join us!" He cried, hand extended towards Yang. She was too busy laughing. The Ranshu natives crawled out from their hiding places, braving the torrent to smile at their saviors' antics. Many of the officers attempted to stem the sudden festivities, but stopped once the troopers hefted Major Hrakksson on his shoulders, where he bellowed a song in Woadian, his face flush with glee.

"Agri-worlders." Jorvis grumbled. Theni, resting his injured leg, hooted and clapped in time to the major's music. Soon enough, half the regiment joined in.

"Something wrong sir?" Yang asked. Like her sergeant, neither were native to Woadia, and remained bemused by their comrades' antics. Unlike Jorvis, however, Yang enjoyed dancing.

"If they want to hop around like jackasses, that's their business." He said, stomping off to find somewhere dry. Yang shrugged, wrapping her weapons in her armor and tunic before joining the frivolity. There hadn't been enough of it after Jala Prime. Asgeg pulled her into the fray with her shiny new prosthetic limb, courtesy of the Lady Inquisitor's stable of techpriests. The limb shook droplets of water as she caught Yang's arm.

"Come on, Yang!" She cried. So, soaking wet from her tank-top to her fatigues, she joined the dancing. She'd always had a talent for footwork, and picked up the steps after a few minutes of stepping on Asgeg's toes.

A few brave locals joined in, where giddy Woadians welcomed them warmly. Mael scooped up a thin-framed Ranshan woman wearing a bloodied apron. She shrieked with laughter. Local instruments blared reedy tunes, adding to the madness.

The whirling dancers switched partners, and Yang found herself arm in arm with Caolin. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, soaking, sopping wet.

"Fear the Inquisition!" He cried, almost inaudible over the crash of rain and whining bagpipes. "We bring food and festivities!" Yang laughed, tasting the bitter blue war paint as the rain washed it over her lips.

Mael spun his new friend in air, her knee-length skirt swirling despite the rain that clung to it. She was beaming. And why wouldn't she be? Her belly was full for the first time in weeks, and a legion of soldiers had chased the specter of death away, if only for a time.

The dance continued for ten glorious minutes before Major Hrakksson regained his composure and called a halt to the brief and rain-slicked festivities. Disappointed but weary, the Woadians acquiesced, scooping up their equipment. Each bore a dazed and dorky grin, Yang's the largest of all. Gamma platoon found shelter under a ragged awning, crowding each other to escape the oppressive rainfall.

Caolin hummed a Goethi tune, while Mael said goodbye to the local woman. She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which filled his face with a rosy glow. Theni, Caolin, and Yang hooted their approval, welcoming him with sly grins as he squeezed into their shelter.

Ros sighed, her smile dying away. Yang prodded her, but she waved her off.

"You're pretty smooth, big guy." Asgeg said, drying her metal arm with a spare towel. Mael shrugged before scrawling something in the dirt with his finger.

'I have a way with words.' It read. They laughed, clapping him on the back before fighting among themselves for legroom. Jorvis tried to look pissed.

"Fucking agri-worlders." He mumbled into his cigar. The smoke billowed around his head, filling the awning with the rich scent of tobacco before escaping into the downpour. "Buncha animals. You done with your mating dance?" Caolin rolled his eyes.

"Sir, it's for after plant-"

"Shut it, shit-for-brains, I didn't ask, and I don't care." Jorvis said, watching the last of the Ranshan disappear into their homes.

Mael shrugged, wearing a wry grin. Ros was still staring at her knees, which she hugged tight against her chest to avoid crowding the others. Her red-tinged hair was dripping wet and clinging to her scalp. Yang felt her grief, but didn't understand why it came on so suddenly.

A horn sounded in the distance.

"What was that?" Caolin asked. The only answer was its repeated cry, followed by hundreds of its brethren.

* * *

**Three Hours Earlier**

The Lady Inquisitor smiled as the door to her Valkyrie hissed shut, the aperture to the city of Shao-la blocking away her view of the crowd. Even with the roar of the flier's engines, their enthusiasm could not be outdone.

"My Lady?" Ira asked, his eyes still focused on the landing door. "May I ask a question?" She nodded. "Why feed them They certainly needed it, but what was your goal in doing so?" She sighed. Ira was an astute servant, graceful with a sword and unyielding in his investigative abilities, but he was not privy to the sterling necklace that graced a Recongregationalist. She turned to Ira.

"Inquisitors are the first line of defense against the darkness that encroaches upon the Imperium. We ferret out unfathomable dangers and keep the populace blissfully ignorant of the insidious horrors that gnaw at the edges of their perception. Millennia of corruption have made us appear as monsters." She spat. "Inquisitors should be paragons of justice, not agents of shadow." Her armored knuckles rapped against the solid adamantium door. "They cheered us today, because I alleviated their suffering, if only for a time. It was the least I could do. Our stores are immense, and we did little more than skim their surface."

Just one more tenet of the Recongregationalist philosophy. Working to improve the reputation of Inquisition was a critical undertaking, replacing terror and fear with trust and relief. _It will not happen quickly, _she mused. _And_ _I will be long dead before any meaningful change is made._ _In the Imperium, it can only come slowly, but it is not impossible._

"I… understand, my Lady." Every day, he grew closer to induction. His rosette was still many years away, but when he clasped it, it would be with the hand of someone who deserved it.

"Five minutes until we arrive at the Citadel Grounds." The intercom said. The Lady Inquisitor tightened her fingers around her power sword, refocusing on the task before her.

The flashes she'd gleaned from the traitorous Colonel were illuminating, but shrouded in mystery. _Josephus the Corruptor_. One of Abaddon's lesser warlords, and sworn to Chaos Undivided. However, his countless cults and seditions led her to suspect he had leanings towards the Changer of Ways. She snarled. The Fate-Spinner, the End-Plotter. His sinister hands were tightly bound in the puppet-twine of this sordid affair. Of that, she was certain.

His pawn in all of this was the confounding part.

"Thirty seconds until dust-off." She retreated from the confines of her mind, ready to make her appearance. The moment her feet touched the earth, her investigation began. The landing door opened with a whine of pneumatic gears, revealing the greeting party she'd arranged. They waited on her with bated breaths, minds tinged with the acrid scent of fear. Prop-wash buffeted them, causing their multi-colored robes to flutter and dance.

Darron was the first one out, leaping several meters to land on the well-kept grass and scanning the immediate area. He caught Chera next, setting her down at his side. As the landing ramp extended to kiss the garden grounds, The Lady Inquisitor pinned her hat to her head and descended. Ira followed her, his red robes snapping in the wind.

She examined the greeting party, searching for the Lord Governor.

"Where is the Governor?" She asked. They flinched at her voice, bowing low as though it might curry her favor.

"The King is within!" A blue-robed figure said, desperate to be heard over the roar of the departing Valkyrie. "He has been wounded in defense of our mighty city."

"Very well. Take me to him, I must have words." Twenty kasrkin locked into step behind her, swelling her presence well beyond her five-and-a-half-feet. The man swallowed, sweat beading at his forehead. Despite his nervousness, a quick mental scan cleared himself and his entourage of taint.

"Of course, my Lady." The men stood aside, throwing upon the heavy oaken doors that barred their entrance to the black-stoned castle. Candles and torches inside flickered and danced in the gust of air, casting lively shadows across the stone floor. Tapestries writhed as well, hung from the heights of soaring ceilings.

"My Lady, you couldn't have come at a more opportune time." The lead figure said, fat fingers wriggling over each other like worms. "The Great City of Shao-la has been loyal to the Imperium for millennia, and we've kept the archives with exemplary care. Forces of the Dark Gods assault us day and night, and-"

"Enough." She said, silencing him with the wave of her hand. "I have been briefed enough on the situation. What of the Governor?"

"His Radiance is resting now. He has led countless sorties against the enemies at our gates. The Emperor's Warrior Spirit lives within him." A white-robed figured shuffled forward, his face sweating and eyes heavy with fatigue.

"He has been wounded in his latest battle. He slew many of the enemy, but was shot by one of the enemies' thunder-sticks, and has not recovered since." The Lady Inquisitor appraised the man.

"You mean to tell me he's been fighting them with swords and lances, while the traitors have been equipped with projectile weapons?" _Troubling._ _This is a feudal world, and still trapped within a largely benighted state of technology. If the chaos-allied factions had better weapons, it meant someone brought them here. _Despite the grim news, she grinned. She was on the right track.

"Y-yes. And worse news… the wound is festering." Now _that_ was troubling.

"All the more reason to see him immediately." Her pace quickened, and the stout, soft men scrambled to keep up with her. The royal chambers were a short march away.

She flung the doors open, the small crowd of her retinue trailing behind. Large windows stood open, and the breeze stirred their gargantuan shades into occasional, languid movement. A large four-poster bed held the center of the room, attended by nurses and ministers of unknown function. Seeing the Lady Inquisitor, they bowed low and scurried away, desperate not to draw her eye.

"Greetings, your Radiance." She said, with a small bow. The King appraised her, wrapped tight in bandages and thick, woolen blankets. He was no older than thirteen standard. Thin black hair clung to his freckled forehead, his breathing ragged and short.

"Inquisitor." He managed. _So young_… _and he's been leading war parties? _"You've arrived." His teeth pulled back in a snarl as a tendril of pain lanced through him. He smiled afterwards, a painful, bitter gesture. "I'm not so naïve to believe you came here to save my people. You seek the Archives." She nodded.

"You are correct. I will be able to aid you during the course of my investigation, however. I might even be able to cure your current affliction." The King's eyes burned at this, set alight by her words.

"Splendid." He said, now bearing a real smile. The pile of furs writhed as he attempted to sit up. "I must lead another sortie." A cough wracked him, and blood seeped through the fingers that clutched at his side. "We have been hard-pressed, my Lady." The boy-king said. "The nations of Shur-yan, Zhe-ro and the Ailu League all rose up against us, flying heretical, blasphemous banners. Our allies are few and distant, and have not responded to our cries for aid. The enemy's agents are hiding within my city, as you are well aware. They have even tried to assassinate me here, in The Citadel of Totha's Radiance. My advisers aided me in purging the disloyal." Her frigid eyes passed over the King's adjutants, who cowered under her gaze. "My Regent was found wanting."

"And his fate?" She inquired.

"Execution." Spat the Magister. "Delivered by his majesty four days ago today." The boy nodded, coughing into his blankets.

"You performed the execution?" He shrugged, wincing as he did so.

"I had just been wounded, so it was difficult… but I managed." He took a deep breath. You may think us barbarous, but we are a society ruled by war. Shao-la is the strongest of the city-states that dot our world, thanks to our cooperation with the Imperium. They built this castle and the city walls, all to keep the Saint's archives safe. But that is not all that keeps our heads off the butcher's block." He paused, his breaths laborious, complexion pallid. "I have been trained in the arts of war since I was three. When my father died two years ago, this city, its wars, and its administration have fallen to me. My Regent was a heretic and a wasteful glutton." He hissed. Chera chuckled at the King's words.

"Your Radiance, your upbringing is hardly barbaric. We are from Cadia," she said, "where we learned to field-strip a lasgun before we could walk." This brought a smile to the King's thin and bluish lips.

"I learned my sword work when I was four." An invisible phantom of pain wracked him, and his face screwed up in agony. True to his rearing, he made no noises of discomfort.

"Your Radiance!" The blue-robed magister cried.

"Darron, see to the King." The Lady Inquisitor said, nodding her Captain forward. The grizzled kasrkin was her most skilled field medic. The nurses attempted to slow his approach, but he batted them away like flies.

"Let's see that wound." He said to the boy-King. The Lady Inquisitor's hand tightened around her inferno pistol. If the rot that infected him was tainted by the warp, she would do whatever necessary to keep it from spreading. When Darron peeled back the bindings, only the smell of bacterial infection filled the room. Not wonderful news, but better than the alternative.

"It's still in here!" Darron cried in disbelief. "The daft bastards left the bullet _in_ the wound!" She groaned. Feudal world shamed her. It didn't do to leave citizens of the Imperium wallowing in ignorance.

"Can you take care of it?" The unspoken: will he live? The boy was capable for his age. And his people seemed to adore him. Losing him would impede her progress immensely.

"Yeah. You're a tough little bastard, aren't you, your Radiance?" A few of the advisors gave an indignant squawk, but the Lady Inquisitor only chuckled. Darron was never possessed with tact, but he knew what he was doing. The disrespect set alight a fire in the king's weary eyes.

"Don't patronize me." He said, grimacing as the kasrkin poked at the wound. "I've met the enemy, felt their blood on my arms as I closed with cold steel." Darron paused his work long enough to chuckle. _In another life, another world, this kid would be on a fast track to Beacon Academy._ She slipped into his mind, and was surprised by what she found. Swelling within him was sense of duty and obligation so powerful, it conjured up images of Ruby. The boy was strong, just like Her.

"Of course, your Radiance. You have my thanks for your tenacity and leal service." She said, her voice soft and gentle.

"It is my _Len-wu_. My role, my sacred duty." He said, his voice rising to fill the spacious chamber. "I wouldn't dare shirk from it."

* * *

After a few short hours spent discussing Shao-la's defenses, the Lady Inquisitor took her leave of the King. The Archives called to her. The Magister – Magister Kung, as she learned from a short burst of telepathy – led her through the royal castle, the masonry sheer and elegant, the work of Imperial craftsmen. The world was barbaric and crude, but it housed the Archives of Saint Totha, and served as a sturdy protector of the knowledge it contained. The Lady Inquisitor ignored Kung as he prattled on about the history of the castle, his didactic musings on the storied tapestries that covered the walls wholly ignored. They were very nice, to be sure, but she had more important things to worry about. Darron and Chera stayed with the King, and the rest of her retinue struggled to keep up with her long strides. Her duster flapped behind her in her haste.

A worm of unease burrowed in her gut, and she had learned -after fifty years in the Imperium- to trust such feelings. The local royalty had been clean of any taint, a welcome change from her usual investigations. Her power sword remained bloodless. For now.

The ceiling swelled upwards as they approached the Citadel's chapel, a monstrous work of metal framing and blackened stone. A soft chanting wrapped itself around her as she threw the engraved metal doors aside. A choir dressed in cloth-of-gold sung their hymns, ignorant of the Lady Inquisitor's procession. Candles by the thousands lined the stained glass windows, which streamed light through vibrant depictions of the Emperor's might, some of the grander works reaching three stories tall.

Her eyes swept across the stone pews, which the architect had arranged in a peculiar fashion – stacked, pyramidal rows that offered excellent defilades against attackers. The locals kissed the steps before ascending the main pulpit. The Lady Inquisitor and her retinue made no such obeisance.

The pulpit, clothed in black carpets trimmed in gold, held a glass case that bore a single lever, wrought in onyx metal. Murmuring a prayer, she heaved the case open, pulling the lever.

An earth-shaking rumble groaned below her, and the pulpit split apart to reveal a staircase. Waving her retinue forward, she descended. Electronic torches, long since hidden away, sprung to life, sparks of light igniting as she rushed down the steps.

Far above their heads, rain crashed against the chapel ceiling, distant and droning. As the pulpit sealed itself, the sound disappeared. Now, the only sounds were the clatter of boots and the faint chanting of the choir, which echoed into the depths.

Five minutes of crawling through the thinning tunnels brought them before the doors of Saint Totha's Archive. A small party of Archive Keepers awaited them, hooded in robes as white as parchment. Embossed upon the wrought-adamantium doors they attended was a golden skull that bore a single, shining eye, surrounded by scrolls and cherubim. The icon of Totha, and the symbol that she'd deciphered from the maddened, racing thoughts of the traitorous colonel. His rotted, fetid mind had borne some inkling of his master's intentions, but nothing beyond the symbol that towered over them.

_What does Josephus seek within these halls? Has he already infiltrated them? Why does a man who conspires to drown the kasrs in a tide of converts seek the knowledge contained within these doors?_

She nodded to the Archive Keepers, who pulled a set of levers and opened the great door. The sight that greeted her was a daunting one. Shelves the size of Baneblades were legion, attended by cherubim that fluttered between them, shuffling and stocking tomes by the thousands. Their chittering, clattering machine-speak filled the colossal space, ringing softly against the immense repertoire of knowledge.

"Holy _shit_." Nicolas breathed. She smiled at her kasrkin's reaction. She enjoyed the sight as well. The archives were just one more wonder that the Imperium had squirreled away. A servo-skull approached them, red eye scanning the intruders into its sacred space.

"STATE YOUR NAME, VISITOR." It bellowed from an unmoving mouth. A quill worked on a stretch of parchment a few dozen yards in length.

"I am The Lady Inquisitor, accompanied by my guard." she said, displaying her rosette. Its clockwork brains clanked and hummed as it scanned her emblem, processing the new data.

"ACKNOWLEDGED. WELCOME, INQUISITOR, TO THE ARCHIVES OF SAINT TOTHA. I AM THIRTY-TWO SCHOLAR INTENDANT. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?"

"Please, show me the records of every recent visitor to the Archives."

"COMPLYING." It said, floating away on its cushion of anti-gravity, beckoning them forward with metal appendages that curled like spider legs. The party set off, plunging the depths of knowledge that swallowed them whole. The Archive Keepers trailed them, silent under their hoods.

A squawking discharge of static disrupted the atmosphere of the archives. Her microbead. It crackled again, its signal muffled by the weight of earth above them. It was Longinus, his voiced seized by panic.

"My Lady, we-" Static corroded his words, degrading them into unintelligible mumblings. "The rest of-"

"Colonel!" She cried as he cut out again, startling her retinue.

"-here! –under attack! Hundreds of thous-" His voice was drowned in an ocean of interference.

"Hold firm!" The Lady Inquisitor ordered, not caring if he heard her. Her teeth ground against each other, frustration reaching a fever pitch. The arch-foe had returned with their legions. Now, a clock hung over her head, its ticking pounding against her eardrums in a silent, rhythmic beat. Unless Longinus had a penchant for exaggeration, it would only be a matter of time before Shao-la was overrun, and the Archives plundered.

"My Lady?" Ira asked. The servo-skull was waiting on her as well, hovering near and prodding at her kasrkin, who shrugged it off.

"Ira, go and lead the defenses in my stead." She appraised the uncountable tomes before her, the endless rows and alcoves that stored scrolls unending. "I need every second possible for my investigation. Observe the enemy. Look for signs of Josephus. And sell this city _dearly_." She growled.

He bowed deeply. Synthetic, flesh-colored arms grasped his power sword, sheathed within thin mecha-dendrites that unraveled and uncoiled, the clawed appendages dancing around his figure. Muscle and metal alike adorned her acolyte, the augmentations bestowed upon him during his days in the skitarii framing his well-built torso in sturdy adamantium. Her purity glyphs sat over his heart, images tailored to his life spent in the service of the Mechanicus. His sword point plunged into the polished stone, and he sank to one knee. His cherry-red hair, once bound in the folds of his cloak, fell about his face.

"Your will be done, my Lady." She cupped his chin, staring into his augmented eyes, which under cursory inspection appeared organic.

"It will. The fate of billions rests on our shoulders. Go now, and be vigilant. Remember: only the Emperor is infallible."

"My Lady," he said, faltering. "This is wisdom you bestow upon me often. I… would like to know why."

"Fight well, Ira. Return alive, and I shall tell you." He bowed once more before returning from whence they came. The Lady Inquisitor watched him go, wishing him luck as he left. Turning to the servo-skull and her kasrkin, she nodded towards the depths of the Archives.

"Lead on." The time allotted for her investigation was ticking away, as the siege of Shao-la had begun in earnest.

* * *

**A/N: ****Another set-up chapter! (Sorry!) Some quick notes: Ira is (as many of you probably guessed) associated with the Mechanicus, as an upper-leveled Skitarii. I also like this chapter a lot for a few separate reasons. Primary among them is that it highlights one of the coolest aspects of the lore for me: the sheer diversity of cultures in the Imperium. While the Black Library always mentions different planets, I think its cool to see the more domestic side of their lives!**

**Also, hope you like the King! When I was writing him, I tried much make him an anti-Joffrey. (I.e. he's just as young, but a badass instead of a whiny little bitch).**

**Oh, and 34-Scholar Intendant isn't an AI or anything, in case you were wondering. It just serves as an interface for the archives. Think of VIs from Mass Effect. **

**Please, let me know what you think! I'm always so thrilled to hear what you have to say!**

**Review Replies:**

**reality deviant:**

**the metaphysical god of heroes: You're thinking of the Tau! :D And I guess we'll have to wait and see, huh?**

**The Walrus of Eden: Ooh, interesting theory! Maion'll be back in due time. :)**

**Wolfund: That's pretty much my opinion about them verbatim. Why can't we cut them some slack, you know? They're almost extinct!**

**giodan: Um... no?**

**Galm: I'm glad you're a fan! It only gets crazier from here on out!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Yeah, there's a few more aspects that need exploring! And that was my reasoning as well. :)**

**Mintskittle: Yeah, Grey Knights might work, but they're not exactly at the beck-and-call of every single Inquisitor. Plus, can you imagine what would happen if the experiment went awry? D: Also, I agree with your opinion on the Eldar. Couldn't tell if you were serious or not (the internet tends to do that!)**

**dksamuri: Blake is, and always will be, a faunus!**

**Dom380: Glad you're liking the OCs! And cool, Eldar fan! You guys are like unicorns! (Although their new codex might reel a few more in!) Cool theories! :D**

**Magisking: I guess we'll just have to wait and see.**

**SoleimonBerserker: Nice! Their hate does seem a little memetic in origin...**

**Champion of the Hive: Alright! I think you'll be surprised!**

**OBSERVER 01: Maion is Pyrrha, noted! :D**

**Charmcaster the Mad: Why would it be weird?**

**shadow2777: Considering how powerful Weiss is, being so near a Blank would probably kill her. :/**

**Nemris: Aww! I'm glad you're enjoying it so much!**

**redolph: As noted in the A/N, I totally agree with you! I'm also really happy you're enjoying the OCs! I've grown quite fond of a few of them!**

**All American Autor: SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE! (it's not tho, just nutrient paste... mmm... nutrient paste.)**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Glad you like it! And I can't say anything about Jaune, or anyone that's not Weiss or Yang... sorry! Although the image of Heretic!Jaune is incredibly jarring.**

**Skepsis Forever: I'm so happy you're liking it!**

**Gafgar: As this chapter probably clarified, Shao-la is the city, Ranshu is the planet. :) I'm really happy you're liking the OCs too. I've come to really enjoy writing them!**

**RED Roman Pyro: They're not 'looking into the warp', just using it like regular psykers. You're right though, only navigators can make sense of the Warp's eddies. **

**LuckyBlackCat777: Aw, thank you so much!**

**Gammaman: I suppose it's possible... shit would go _down_!**

* * *

**Alright guys, thank you so much for all your love and support! You guys make my day! :D**


	20. Duty Above All Else

**A/N: Sorry about the schedule slip! We're back, everyone!**

**So let's get to it! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Duty Above All Else**

_"Legion are His foes… and legion are His subjects. The differences between them are countless, but faith and duty are chief among them." – Commissar Ingrid Hauptmann_

The Cathedral bells sung out their panicked cry, and Shao-la descended into chaos. The Woadian 111th scrambled for their weapons, their respite forgotten. The city square, which had been full of frivolity only hours ago, was now packed with grim and determined troopers, black-clad and ready to give battle. The civilians that had greeted them with joyful enthusiasm marched alongside the column of soldiery, which stormed down the streets to aid the local garrison in its defense of the city.

Officers bellowed orders and boots hurried along the puddle-studded street, hard leather splashing and spraying rainwater as they rushed forwards. Yang was jogging behind Jorvis and Ros, her lasgun shouldered and power sword at the ready. Word from the Colonel had gone out on all the vox-channels: the enemy had returned, and in great force.

_Weiss sure knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she? _She shook the thought away, which released droplets of water from the long strands of blonde hair that spilled out from underneath her helmet. The rain still drizzled over Shao-la, but it had slackened since the revelry a few hours ago.

A single woman cried out in song, the voice of a local. As her chant died away, antother echoed the cry, joined by a hundred others. The hymn swelled around them as they marched, the words a hearth-hum of chanting voices. Yang couldn't make out the words, but she knew well enough what they sung of. War. War and cleansing. They steeled her heart all the same, if not for their content but for what they represented. The choral thrum was the hope that the citizens placed in them.

The _In My Spirit_ passed them, its huge tracks spitting mud as it overtook the Woadian infantry. Its commander, a pale hiver from Elodia, shook his fist in righteous furor as he passed. The rest of the tanks followed him, the weight of their passing filling Yang's chest with a gut-churning roar.

Inwardly, she wondered how useful they'd be. If they were under siege, the heavy MBTs wouldn't be much use. They were too wide for the ramparts on top of the walls, and the press of buildings within them limited their mobility. _At least they're good for morale. _She thought as the last tank, _Sweet Sonjja _rolled past. The natives stared after the hulking masses of steel with reverential awe, and many had slapped fluttering prayer flags to their chassis and cannons.

The local soldiery that had greeted them also filled the streets, shoring up the barricades and defenses they'd constructed. As the looming walls grew taller, the 111th split apart, divided into their companies by Major Hrakksson and Commissar Daniloft. The two officers stood atop a wooden palisade that stood before the main gate, gesturing and shouting into vox-casters.

When Gamma platoon received their directions, Yang noticed the Commissar only gave her a second look that was due to the only 'Woadian' over six feet tall. He didn't seem to recognize her from their struggle in Primum Mobilus. She shivered. It reeked of Weiss.

"Good news, Gamma platoon!" Major Hrakksson bellowed, putting his hands on his hips. "You're gettin' front-row seats to the shit show! Personal orders from the Colonel. You and the rest of First Company are on Gate-watch!"

"SIR, YES SIR!" They replied, saluting. Daniloft eyed them all as they marched to the elevator that would bear them to their posting, looking down his long aquiline nose. Yang shrugged off the glare, following Ros onto the primitive contraption that would take them up.

"Oh, this is a bad idea." Asgeg said, going green in the face. Her hands wrenched at the dark wood that framed the box that would bear them aloft. Yang didn't blame her. This 'elevator' looked like it had been used every day… for centuries.

But besides Asgeg vomiting over the edge, their ascent was uneventful. Yang kept puzzling over Hrakksson's words. The Colonel had specifically wanted Gamma platoon to guard the gate? _Is it because of me? _With the grind of metal links on a worn pulley, the elevator reached its destination. The ramparts were huge, at least fifteen yards across, forged from solid metal and stone. _Definitely Imperial engineering._ Both woadian and Ranshan troops milled about the gatehouse, stocking ammunition or praying quietly.

Yang saw why. The LZ she'd left only hours ago was now flooded with marching soldiers, thousands upon thousands of them. They crushed the blue-green grass under their sheer weight, crawling steel beetles in twisted, primitive armor. A veritable sea of apostates, their countless fluttering banners bearing repulsive symbols and abhorrent prayers. Siege machines crested the distant hills, towering contraptions built from pale wood and bristling with spikes. Drums by the hundreds sounded, a constant thrum that echoed against the walls of Shao-la.

"Looks like we're in for a bit of a tussle." Yang said, trying not to let shock rule her voice. She had never seen so many people in one place before. There were two hundred thousand _at least_. Even more approached as they emerged from the horizon, cresting green hills in their legions. And every single one of the warp-spawned bastards was heading straight for Gamma platoon.

"Bit of a tussle, she says." Caolin mumbled, throat working. Mael swallowed in agreement. _No shit_, he seemed to say. "Are we supposed to kill all of them?" He asked. Yang clapped him on the back.

"I'm sure once they get sight of you, they'll be running right back over those hills." She said. Ros snorted, eyes wide and blinking at the sight before them.

"Enough lollygagging, ladies!" Jorvis said, waving his chainsword at them. "The Colonel wants us to hold the gatehouse, so by the Emperor, we're going to hold this fucking gatehouse!" He smiled his shark's smile. "Wouldn't trust it to anyone else now could we?" A few weak chuckles. "I want thirty men in the windows on the gatehouse. Everyone else, stay on the flanking walls. When they come for us," he said, pausing to sweep them with his metal eye, "and they _will_ come for us. We will be ready. Set watches, and try to get some sleep. We got a lot of killin' to do, huh?"

"Yes sir!" They replied.

"That's some weak-ass groxshit, boys!" He bellowed back. "Hell, I'm glad there's so many! It's time to do our Emperor-given duty and _butcher some fucking heretics_!"

"YES SIR!" Gamma platoon cried, their sergeant's reminder lifting their spirits a little. Yang's squad was stuck on the wall to the left of the gatehouse, right next to Delta and Epislon platoons. Her friends sat down, inspecting their gear, counting ammo cells and grenades. Yang walked over to the edge of the battlements, leaning through a firing slit to appraise their enemy. Her hair whipped against the wall as the wind returned.

_So many. Against how many of us?_ _Eight thousand? And how many local pikemen do we have on our side? Six thousand? Ten thousand? _She snorted. _If we're lucky._ _If I wasn't here, I'd actually be worried, s_he thought, grinning.

_No way they're gonna starve us out either. They wouldn't have built those rickety-ass war machines if they aren't gonna use 'em_. She shivered against Ember Celica. It was going to be one hell of a fight.

With a roar, Weiss' Valkyrie swooped over to Gamma platoon's position, its engines blaring blue flame. Extending a landing ramp, it swiveled around to reveal her red-robed acolyte, the man named Ira. Colonel von Israfel accompanied him, shoulders hunched. Behind them, the Woadian command retinue filled the troop bay.

Crossing the ramp, they joined the guardsmen on the ramparts, silent and foreboding.

"Officer present!" Ros screamed. Snapping up, Gamma platoon stood rigid, giving stiff salutes to the incoming officers.

"At ease, Corporal." Ira said. Still, her eyes darted over to von Israfel, who gave her a curt nod. Only then did they stand at ease. "Where is your commanding officer?"

"Right here, my Lord." Jorvis said, striding out from within the gatehouse. "How can we be of assistance?" A hand appeared from within the acolyte's robes, waving away the sergeant's offer.

"I am merely here to observe the enemy." Yang couldn't place it, but something seemed off about his voice. It seemed… unnatural. With several long strides, he reached the edge of the walls, standing next to Yang. He nodded. "Trooper Yang."

"Ira." He chuckled, which made Yang realize the source of her unease. The sound was distinctly mechanical. Ira waved the Colonel forward, who almost tripped himself in his haste to obey.

"Look Colonel, their 'assault' has already begun." Yang's head snapped around at his words. Sure enough, an enormous catapult squeaked forward, pushed by hundreds of grunting soldiers. Her hand tightened around her lasgun. _So soon?_

"No cannon?" Longinus asked. The red hood shook.

"Most of these men are enlisted from the local powers. An outside force has granted them a bevy of more standard weaponry, but even our Lady would struggle to arm the army you see before you. Most still carry the weapons their feudal masters have given them." The catapult rolled forward, directly towards the gatehouse.

"Should we take care of them?" Yang asked. They were just within range of lasgun fire.

"No, not yet." Ira replied. "I don't think a singular catapult, no matter how large, is a threat to us. I suspect they have a different goal in mind." After five minutes of waiting, the war machine deployed, its engineers scrambling and hustling to construct it.

"Are you… waiting for something?" Yang said.

"Be silent, Trooper." Colonel von Israfel snapped. She nodded, already ignoring his words.

"I am. I want to see if I'm correct about their intentions." With a wooden groan that could be heard across the grounds, the weapon fired, hurling a group of projectiles at the walls of Shao-la. Yang's mouth fell open in horror.

Heads. Heads by the hundreds hammered against the city walls, tarred-black and twisted in terror. Some struck a few unlucky wodians, splattering against their flak armor, where they burst apart in a shower of maggots and pus. The smell turned Yang's nose, and she felt bile climb up the ladder of her throat. Her shoulder burned as well, concealed under the pauldron of her flak armor.

"Holy God-Emperor!" Someone cried. Many of her comrades spilled the contents of their lunch onto the ramparts, their faces ashen and pale. Even von Israfel shuddered, clutching at his stomach and grimacing. Ira, however, lifted his head, allowing the hood to fall away from his face. Metal implants and wires uncountable covered his head, stopping just short of his hairline. A mane the color of his robes spilled over it all, thick and tangled with yet more wiring.

He was smiling.

"Ira?" Yang asked.

"Our Lady tells me to expect unpredictability from the arch-foe. This… was expected. It's almost disappointing." He turned to the gatehouse. "Open the gates!" With a groan, they did, giant doors swinging open under their feet.

"Lord Ira…" Longinus said, stepping forward to face the acolyte. Instead of replying, Ira spoke into his microbead.

"Lieutenant Varo… welcome our guests."

"Yes, my Lord!" He answered immediately. The _Spirit_ thundered below them, and the catapult shattered into a thousand splintered fragments, its crew vaporized by a high-explosive shell. A cheer rose up from the battlements, hewn from thousands of throats. The survivors scrambled back to heretic lines, some limping, some bleeding. Some remained as piecemeal in the blue-green grass.

"Close the gates!" Ira bellowed. The gatekeepers echoed his cry, hastening to obey his command. The doors slammed shut, ringing with resolute finality. "And that is the welcome we will give the heretic. Fire and steel." His words were met with a cheer from Gamma platoon. Even Yang grinned. _I think I have an idea about why she picked this guy_.

* * *

War-horns sounded in the night, now on their eighth hour of trumpeting. Yang rubbed her eyes. She wished she could shove the horns so far up their owners' collective asses that they'd speak in nothing but stunted toots until she mashed their fucking skulls together. It was the second hour of her watch. Ros sat next to her, sipping shitty recaf in a tin mug as she peered through the battlements. Campfires burned at their backs, lit by Gamma platoon to huddle around.

Frosted breath spilled from the two women, sliding past the ramparts to fade away beyond the wall. Ros was as dour as ever, scowling at the heretic camps. She was watching the thousands of campfires that burned beyond the walls of Shao-la, a forest of reddish-orange embers. Her lasgun sat next to her, leaning against the battlements.

"How're you doing, Ros?" Yang whispered.

"I'm cold, I'm hungry, and I'm staring down enough heretics to plug the Eye of Terror. So you know. Okay." She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"What's it like being filled with so much joy all the time?" Yang asked. Ros snorted. It almost sounded like laughter. "Seriously though, what's got you down?"

"You mean besides the legion of pillage-hungry murder machines out there?" She replied, jerking her thumb at the campfires. Yang rolled her eyes.

"You got really quiet today. _Before_ the asshole convention started. C'mon. You can tell me." Ros sighed, trying to warm her hands with the vapor escaping her lips. She shook her head. "Ros, please. I'm your friend." She turned to Yang.

"I miss… I miss my husband, okay? We've been deployed for almost six months now, and every day, every hour, I wonder how he's doing. How the field's coming along. How… If he's remembering to keep the harvester full up on coagulant." She paused, her words struggling to escape her working throat. "He always forgets." Her hands met her face and she sobbed into her frigid fingers.

"Hey, C'mon Ros." Yang threw her arm around her friend. "Shhh. It's okay. Sorry for pressing."

"It's… okay. T-thanks." She said, leaning into the embrace. Sniffling, she wiped at her weeping eyes. "I'm sorry. I just try to keep it down, you know? Shit's fucking tough." She gave a weak, warbling laugh.

"We'd be lost without ya, Ros." Yang said, patting her on the back. Ros smiled, dabbing at her eyes again.

"Damn straight." She took a long breath. "You… you didn't leave anyone behind on Woadia, did you? You never really talk about that kind of thing."

"Well… it… I… hm." The question stumped her. Yang never dealt with serious relationship stuff back on Remnant, let alone in the Imperium. She liked her freedom, after all. Torrid flings and one-night stands were more her style. But since she'd arrived in the Imperium, she'd been on the longest dry spell since she was twenty. _Why is that? It's not like I'm short on opportunity…_ "I guess I didn't." Ros sniffled, giving her a weak smile.

"I guess you're all the better for it." She said. Yang shrugged, jostling her friend as she wore her most radiant smile.

"Maybe, maybe not. Really should get laid though, it's been too long."

"I find that hard to believe, considering you look like… well…" Ros waved her hand at Yang. "That." Yang laughed, tresses of golden hair flashing in the light of the watch fires.

"Why, that almost sounds like you're _offering_." Ros snorted again.

"Oh, _please_." Yang waved her hands, dismissing her friend's complaints.

"No, no. Go ahead." Lightning quick, she clasped Ros' hand, leaning in as she did so. "Don't think I can't swing both ways. And don't pretend that you don't want me." She said, her words a sultry whisper.

"Yang…" Ros breathed, her red-rimmed eyes spread in fear. Yang edged forward, closer and closer. She nuzzled past the mane of curly red hair, brushing her lips against the Woadian's ears.

"_Kidding_."

"Oh fuck _off_!" Ros cried, shoving Yang away with a burst of laughter. Yang giggled too, clapping the Corporal's back.

"I had you going though, didn't I?"

"Emperor _above_!" Yang laughed again, relishing the brief glimpse of levity that shone through Ros' smile. She nudged her, curiosity furrowing her brow. "You don't actually…" She coughed awkwardly. "Uh… do it with chicks though, do you?"

"Oh no, I totally do." Ros' jaw dropped low enough to scrape against the _Spirit_. "Where I come from, it's not all that unusual. I _do_ prefer guys though, to be totally honest." _They just fit my tastes more frequently._

"I… uh… wow."

"Let me guess, not all that common in Bardigaal?" Ros shook her head.

"Not very. Emperor, I don't think we've had the type in… ages." Yang shrugged.

"Your loss, babe." She said, winking at Ros, who rolled her eyes. "Seriously though, married people –men or women– are off limits. You're safe. Plus, you're my friend. I wouldn't seriously consider fucking that up." In another life, plenty of Beacon students assumed she'd been sleeping with Blake, but they were mistaken. Their bond was far beyond that. They were best friends, fiercely loyal and practically inseparable. _Until I threw it all away. _The thought soured her mood, but she did her best to put on a brave face for Ros. She wasn't done cheering her up.

"And I promised I'd bring you back, you know. It'd be embarrassing if I had to explain your infidelity to your husband… as the _source_ of your infidelity." She joked. The corner of Ros' mouth twitched, but instead of smiling, she just stared out at the campfires.

"How can you keep that promise? In case you haven't heard, the Black Crusade is still on. And we have a whole Emperor-damned _army _camped a few hundred yards away." Yang smiled for her friend, her lilac eyes meeting Ros'

"I keep my promises." The lie passed her lips with ease, the same lie she told Ruby when things looked their darkest. 'I'll keep you safe.' She'd said, the words a mockery that haunted her dreams, words that dripped with blood that was red like roses. Before Ros could notice that tears were brewing, she pulled her into a tight hug. "I keep my promises."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter today... as well as blue-balling you on all the siege-battle goodness. There's some stuff I wanted to get to, and it wouldn't mesh tonally if I mashed the next chapter in with this one. This is kind of in line with something else I'm trying to do with this fic, which is explore some areas of life in the 41st millennium not often visited in the Black Library (while also staying within the kind of story you might find there). A lot of 40k canon comes off as impersonal and sexless when it comes to characterization, which made a lot (but not all, mind you!) of books feel a bit lacking in that department. I realize War is the focus here, but I feel like portraying people a tad more realistically can't hurt.**

**Also, no, don't get your hopes up, Yang was definitely just messing with Ros.** **XD ****But yeah, that's how I see Yang's sexuality, at least how it seems to be in the show.**

**As for why the heretic army isn't already rofl-stomping Shao-la, there's story reasons for this, but they won't be visited just yet. I promise there's good reason!**

**I hope you enjoyed, and _please_, let me know what you think! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Thank you! Stay tuned, there's some crazy stuff headed your way!**

**shadow2777: I'm not entirely sure if that's how it works...**

**OBSERVER01: It's still incoming! Next chapter, I promise!**

**Gafgar: A good comparison! We'll see how it plays out!**

**the metaphysical god of heroes: True, an interesting idea... but I don't think I'll be bringing in new Chaos gods anytime soon!**

**Galm: Maion will be back in due time!**

**TheSpawn117: Maybe next chapter... maybe never. :O**

**reality deviant: Sorry for once again leaving you in suspense!**

**DeusImperator92: Thank you!**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Hahahaha glad you like him! I guess we'll see how it all plays out.**

**Mintskittle: Good on you for getting the minor details! The bagpipes are actually Ranshan, but yes, Woadian culture is based off of 'Scandanavian Scotland', a period of time in which viking settlers colonized (and IIRC, ruled) Scotland. And yes, the Elodians showed up! Turns out they were a little useful after all. I also agree about the GK... they're way too much. :P**

**coalface: I'm glad that everyone's speaking proper grammar! XD Seriously though, thank you so much for your kind words! They really mean a lot, and definitely help push this story along! As to Aura rating for the main two teams (of course, this is all my opnion), it goes Ruby-Jaune-Yang-Pyrrha-Weiss-Ren-Blake-Nora.**

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**Nemris: End-plotter is my own little epitaph for Tzeentch, it doesn't mean he plans for the end, but rather at the end of all plots, you will find his touch. Does that make sense? **

**Parks98: Hope you're still with me! Glad to have you!**

**RED Roman Pyro: Agreed! I knew that when I started this story I wanted to visit a feudal world!**

**jboone93: Thanks so much! I try to keep the RWBY fans in the know about lore stuff, but sometimes it's impossible. And while it's true Astropaths are usually the only ones to undergo Soul Binding, Weiss was under extenuating circumstances...**

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**Thank you so much, everyone! I love hearing what you have to say! :D**


	21. On the Walls of Shao-la

**A/N: More RWBYHammer for everyone! Buckle up, boys and girls!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 20: On the Walls of Shao-la-**

_"After a few hours, we didn't notice the smell anymore. There's too much las-fire. Too much sweat and smog. It's like wading through an ocean of death. After awhile, the waves take you under and you can't breathe anymore." Darron Marius, on the Investigation of Uriel_

As the twin moons of Ransha bathed Shao-la in a pale red light, demented chanting from the besiegers echoed off the walls of the city. Frenzied shrieks and screams assaulted them too, birthed from alien, inhuman throats. It was noise from beyond human comprehension, noise unlike anything Yang had ever heard, each syllable nightmarish and ear-splitting. Most of the words were incomprehensible, but she could make out the name 'Josephus' more than enough. _Bastard._

She buried her head between her knees, trying to shut away the noise. She'd slapped her pauldron on to cover up the light that pulsed from her burning glyphs. Her comrades weren't faring as well. Some wept from the constant vocal assault, tears streaking their faces as they rocked against the battlements. Only a lucky few had saved enough amasec to drink themselves to sleep. The rest had to make do.

Mael's lips worked in fervent prayer, and his fingers wrought the Sign of the Aquila many times over before kneading Rhain's beaded necklace. Caolin tried to hide within his scarf, curling up into a defensive ball.

"I'm gonna fucking lose it." He said, staring at the campfires beyond the walls. His long-las had been polished to a mirror-shine in a failed effort to ignore the screaming. "I'm gonna fucking drill them."

"Easy there, kiddo." Jorvis grumbled into his cigar, his scarred and brutal face twisted into a rictus of anger. "If we open up on them, they'll think their intimidation bullshit's working."

"Intimidation?" Ros asked, dark circles lining her once luminous eyes. He waved his hand at the darkness.

"That's all this is. They're trying to scare us. And if Trooper Piss-pants over there is anything to go by, it's working." Caolin sighed, trying to clear his eyes of sleep.

"Sorry sir." He mumbled.

"It makes sense though." Yang said. They looked at her. "At the best, we drive ourselves crazy. At the worst, it keeps us up all night." Jorvis nodded, smoke trailing from his nostrils. "Which means they're going to attack soon."

"A-fuckin'-plus, Trooper."

"I'd rather they did." Asgeg said, not stirring from her place on her small and wrinkled bedroll. "Anything's better than listening to this." A low howl of pain punctuated her words, some victim's drawn-out death scream. She clenched and unclenched her hand, inspecting the watch fires that reflected off the sleek finish. "I'd give the rest of my bits for a chance to shut them the fuck up." Ros put a hand on her back, a soothing, matronly gesture.

"It's all right." She said. "We… Yang? What are you doing?" Yang walked to the battlements, cupping her hands over her mouth. She channeled aura into her throat to amplify her voice and keep it from tearing open.

"BOOOOOOO!" She screamed, pouring out her fury and frustration. "YOU DON'T SCARE US, YOU GOAT-FUCKING SPEAR-SHAKERS! DO YOUR WORST, WE'LL BE WAITING!" Ros chuckled before joining her at the walls.

"THE EMPEROR'S WRATH AWAITS YOU!" She hollered. "AND HE'S GOT PLENTY TO GO AROUND!" Emboldened by their example, jeers and zealous condemnations poured down from the walls of Shao-la. All along the walls, Woadians and Ranshan alike joined in, fueling the flames of vitriol that guarded them against their fear.

"Well said, Trooper. Corporal." Jorvis said, wearing his frown that for some reason… almost looked like a smile. "You got some killer pipes, Trooper." Yang shrugged.

"Thanks sir. I will say though, this whole situation is pretty absurd. I wish we could just bomb these assholes into the next century." She said. Jorvis shook his head.

"Even our Lady's ship doesn't have bombardment capabilities that precise. You all saw what happened to Jala Prime. We'd be fried grox," he huffed. Yang chuckled. Even though they couldn't do any damage, it felt good to yell back at the infernal noise. Even now they continued their taunting, mocking the heretics and damning them to the deepest realm of the warp.

It wasn't much, but it helped.

* * *

The assault came at dawn, when the first rays of sunlight crept across the enemy encampment, falling upon towering siege engines that crawled towards Shao-la. Whistles blew, alarms sounded, and the Cathedral bells rang out to warn the citizenry. Yang watched the rickety machines edge closer, fingers clenched tight around her lasgun. Even more of the foul bastards had arrived under the cover of night. How many more, she couldn't say. What she knew was that every single one marched on Shao-la.

War-horns blared keening, unnatural cries, trumpeting the heretic's advance. Working quickly, a small contingent of the Elodian armor sallied out of the city, long enough to tear a few siege towers to shreds with high-explosive shells. A cry went along the walls each time they struck, cheering as the enemy scrambled to escape the flaming wrecks. A few hundred crazed cultists surged forward, hoping to catch the tanks out of position. They were already retreating into the city however, and only served to draw the warriors within firing range. Pintle-mounted bolters and a tide of lasguns awaited them, scything them down to a man. Yang did her part, spraying a maelstrom of lasbolts into the green-clad crowd.

Their work was not done. Dozens of towers rolled closer, pushed by chanting warriors. The siege engines were repugnant things, covered in blood-drenched spikes and foul symbols, each side armored in iridescent green scales. Behind them marched the besiegers, discipline and infernal chanting keeping them in close order. Advancing as they were, it was a bitch to hit anything. As her cell drained, Yang realized the towers wouldn't burn either, as the sheeted scales absorbed lasbolts with ease.

"Reloading!" She cried, slapping a new cell home and tucking the spent one into her belt. _Better be careful with my ammo_, she thought, looking over at the encroaching tide of enemies. _At least my power sword never runs out of juice. And I always have Ember Celica._

Still, the heretics advanced, shoving the wrecked towers aside and mashing their comrades' corpses into the mud. The tanks were repositioning behind the gate, too slowly to engage the encroaching besiegers. Fifteen new engines wheeled closer, pushed by teams of hundreds. As they neared, Yang gagged on their rank stench. The heretics smelled like someone had soaked a month-old corpse in a sewer, then dredged it out for an extensive tour through a fish market. A few of the weaker-stomached Woadians made retching noises, wheezing and reeling for air as spittle trailed from their lips. Roaring in righteous anger, they redoubled their barrage of lasbolts. It wasn't enough. Due to the shape of the city walls, only a fourth of the Woadians had proper defilade on the invaders. The rest covered the flanking walls and set up fire teams within the city.

Yang removed her helmet long enough to tie her hair into a tight bun, and stuff it back as tight as it would go._ If these assholes get any of their stink on my hair, I will personally slaughter them to a man._ Shaken by the smell and the sheer numbers, a few of the Woadians balked at the sight before them. Ros clapped them on the shoulder, offering words of encouragement, fresh blue war paint streaking her face.

With a roar of its engines, Weiss' Valkyrie screamed overheard, raining down bolter fire. The explosive rounds tore at the constructs, blowing apart their wheels and their hauling teams. No sheet of scales would save them from the punishing volume of bolter fire. A few hopeful rockets streaked after the flier, but none connected. Wheeling around, its VTOL engines buffeted propwash at the defenders, their whoops and whistles lost in the howling gale.

It retreated, and the only thing that stood between Shao-la and its destruction were the soldiers upon its walls. Yang readied her lasgun, bracing it against a firing slot. Caolin fired, his long-las barking with glee as he scythed through his targets. There were too many. Stray autogun fire and lasbolts hounded them, loosed from untrained hands. A spray of bullets thudded against the battlements, pushing Gamma back into cover.

The biggest tower neared, the war-chants of the heretics ringing within its dark wooden hull. Green-black forms crowded around its base, howling for a chance to storm the city. Yang fired at them, red lances falling within the tumult and sending them scuttling for cover. Her friends joined her, pouring lasbolts down the walls of Shao-la.

Arrows (arrows!) were their answer, swarming up from below. The steel-tipped shafts rattled off the walls and fell upon the Woadians. Most bounced off their flak armor, but an unlucky few found their way into flesh. A woman from their sister platoon was speared under her chin, and she gurgled in surprise before toppling off the battlements.

That _arrows_ had actually managed to wound her comrades sent a red fury boiling up within Yang. The tower edged closer, its door almost within deploying distance. Bowmen on its top-most section rained arrows upon them, which clattered off the ramparts. The Woadians returned fire, bathing the tower in lasbolts.

"Mael!" Ros said, pulling at his pauldron, "fucking hit them! Front wheel, left side!" He brought his rocket launcher to bear, hauling it over his shoulder. It was almost upon them. "By the Emperor, do it _now_!" He fired. The weapon gave a _chunk-fwoosh _as it delivered its payload, landing on-target with a resounding crash of splintering wood and screaming cultists.

"Fuck yeah!" Yang cried, pumping her fist. "Nice shot buddy!" He nodded in thanks, ducking under the hail of arrows that hissed over their heads. The tower gave a creaking lurch, shifting to its side as its front edge gave way to its wound. With a rattle of chains, its door slammed open, revealing its contents. A platoon's worth of soldiers had been crammed into the tower, centered around a heavy stubber.

"Get down!" Ros shouted. Bullets raked the defenders, chewing apart the ones too slow to dive behind cover. Yang watched in desperation as her comrades fell, shredded by the volume of fire that poured out from the siege engine. Jorra and Kal died first, belching smoke from their ruined corpses.

A scream pierced the clamor of battle as a heretic launched himself at the walls. Yang caught his throat as he vaulted over the battlements, throwing him to the earth with a howl of rage. She ducked back behind cover before the stubber swept over her position. She could feel the rounds thudding into the battlements, impacts that shuddered against the thick stone.

"Where the fuck did he come from?" Caolin cried.

"The door's only a couple yards away! Jumping distance!" Yang said. Good. Time to get handsy. The stubber gave an audible clicking, and Yang hauled her friends to their feet in time to receive the assault. Screaming wordless battle cries, the warriors swarmed over the gap, soaring through the air. Some missed, falling short of their target and shattering apart on the ground below. Most didn't, meeting the Woadians with cold steel.

Lasbolts from all along the walls speared them, burning black holes into their crude armor. Yang introduced the first attacker's face to Ember Celica, tearing his head away from his neck. Ros fell under the weight of three snarling cultists. Roaring, Yang ripped them away, hurling them back into their comrades.

Her lasgun whined, belching death into the incoming tide of green-clad bodies. A salient of warriors had formed near the siege tower's door, pushing to take control of the walls. Brutality reigned as the Woadians closed with bayonets, shouting battle-hymns and pious war-cries. The noise, the smell, it was tremendous. Bones broke and snapped, the ringing clamor of steel paring into flesh and sinew. Drawing her power sword, Yang dove into the thick of it. Her sword hummed as each stroke fell, cleaving her enemies into butcher's slop.

Caolin screamed as he straddled a cultist, plunging his knife into the invader, stitching him with repeated jabs. Joining Theni near the salient, she pushed the limping man away from the thickest fighting, charging into the crowd with her sword leveled like a lance.

Tearing into the midst of them, her sword ran in vicious circles, hacking, rending, carving. A pike came screaming for her throat, which she sidestepped with ease. Diving forward, she hewed its wielder in half, along with the warriors that flanked him. Buckling under the weight of her freight-train stampede, the salient crumpled. With a cry of rage, Ros rallied Gamma platoon, massing the rangers together to push the attackers over the ramparts. The heavy stubber swiveled low, a fresh can of ammo tucked by its tripod.

Before it could suppress the guardsmen, Theni shot its wielder, melting his face away with a well-aimed lasbolt. He fell across the gun, throwing it off-target. Before the next wave of enemies could leap across, Yang jumped the gap, sword raised in fury. She brought it down on the nearest warrior, splitting him in half. Funneled into the limited space afforded by the tower door, the attackers had no choice but to swarm her. She cut them down regardless, striding forward as her victims tumbled off the door.

"Yang, what the hell are you doing?" Ros shouted. She was trying to load a new cell into her lasgun.

"Having fun!" She replied, ducking under a sweeping battle-axe. Her momentum carried her into her next blow, slicing apart a screaming man. Gore by the gallon slicked the door beneath her feet, great red splashes that streamed onto the legions below. Still, Yang was sure-footed, her aura keeping her legs firmly planted. "Get me some tube-charges!" Yang cried.

"Are you serious?!"

"Just find 'em!" Yang said, throwing a warrior off the side. A colossal man appeared from the depths of the tower, cowering his subordinates with his sheer size. He was obese and shirtless, his skin coated with weeping lesions and rotting, fetid pustules. Blisters the size of dinner plates sloughed his skin away, ringed with festering green wounds. Just looking at him made her nauseous, setting her shoulder-glyphs into a smoldering burn.

A lasbolt slammed into him, the crimson beam scorching away half of his face. Dripping burning fat, his tongue lolled out of the steaming wound. He stepped forward, his half-face twisted into a smile.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Yang muttered.

An enormous mace sat on his shoulders, rusted and bloodstained. He shrugged it off, advancing on her. She pounced, power sword bared to pierce his heart. The blade hissed as it entered his bloated body, steaming as it cooked away its flesh. She looked up, expecting pain to rule his face.

What she found was the mace, screaming for her temple. It connected, slamming her across the door and sending her tumbling off the edge. Her semblance flared with power, and she caught the edge of the door with her fingertips.

"YANG!" Ros screamed, voice hoarse from exertion.

"I'm fine! Get the tube charges!" She replied. Ros did not move, her face frozen in fear behind the stock of her lasgun. "_GET ME THE TUBE CHARGES, WOMAN!_" Reluctantly, she obeyed. Yang took a breath as she hung, extinguishing the ghost-flame that licked at her hair. It took all her restraint not to let loose. Arrows were everywhere, swarming, hissing hornets that sought her death. Yang hauled herself up before they could hit her. Lasbolts swarmed out from behind her, a wall of red beams that choked the air with ozone.

The rotting man still stood, bearing a dozen more burns from her comrades' lasguns. Yang's power sword sat in his chest.

"Alright, you sick pile of shit, you got me good. I'll admit it." She cracked her knuckles, staring up at the half-grin the beast wore. "And that's the last time you will." The mace swung forward again, a sweeping, crushing arc. Yang ducked under the blow, before leaping up to slam Ember Celica into the remnants of his jaw. He stumbled back from the force, plump arms waving and scrambling for purchase.

She did not relent. Her fists hammered at the bag of flesh and fetid blood, aura lending her strikes impetuous fury. He was coming apart at the seams, but he did not fall, weathering the storm of blows rained upon him.

"Just. Fucking. **Die**!" A wild swing brought his mace around, but she dodged it with ease. Off-balance from the hasty attack, he floundered. Yang seized the opportunity, ripping her power sword from his chest and dragging it along the rest of his body. His flank wept noxious ichor, and he leaned against the tower's doorframe. His half-grin did not fade. _Holy Terra._

"Yang!" She spun to see Ros waving a pack of tube-charges over her head.

"Throw 'em!" She obeyed, hurling the explosive through the air. Yang caught it with her free hand, just in time to step under a clumsy mace swing. "You just haven't learned, have you?" Her power sword flashed, rending a hole from his shoulder to his gut. Setting the charges for fifteen seconds, she launched herself forward with a wordless cry.

Thirteen seconds.

Yang smashed into the man-thing, barreling into him with a burst of aura-enhanced might. His feet worked, trying to slow his forced retreat. Roaring, she pushed him back into the siege tower, where his comrades were waiting. They were chittering and wide-eyed as they watched the duel, and grew fearful as they approached.

Ten seconds.

"Eat this!" She slammed the tube-charge into his chest wound, and hammered it home with a brutal kick. He flew back, knocking his fellow warriors aside and careening into the depths of the tower. She turned, sheathing her sword as she did so. "I'm taking this." Yang said, scooping up the stubber and a few cans of ammo, stuffing them under her arm. Pumping aura into her legs, she retreated, feet flying as they carried her back to the walls of Shao-la.

Three seconds.

She leaped through the air, her boots scraping the battlements as she landed. Giving her friends a ready grin, she dropped her loot and spread her arms wide. "I'm back!"

A massive explosion ripped the siege tower apart, birthing a colossal pillar of flame that shot into the sky, wooden shrapnel filling the air in a cloud of debris. The sound was tremendous, a throaty **_BOOM_** that set her heart plunging into her stomach.

"YEAH!" She cried, throwing her hands up in the air, deaf to her own words. "YOU LIKE THAT, ASSHOLES?" They didn't. The siege tower was reduced to a smoking ruin, black blast-marks scorching the earth and the walls of Shao-la. Wounded warriors crawled around the blast-site, rendered into piecemeal. Many burned, writhing and slapping the flames that ate at their necrotic flesh.

"Holy fucking Terra." Caolin breathed. The words were quiet, muffled by her ringing ears.

"What can I say?" Yang said, shrugging. Ros punched her on the shoulder.

"Don't ever scare us like that again."

"I think… I think I get it." Caolin said, appraising Yang. "You… you're an incurable show-off."

"Eat a dick." Yang replied, still beaming. She jerked her thumb at the stubber. "Thought we could use this, by the way." They stared at the weapon with suspicion. An arrow dashed between them, missing Mael by inches. "We should probably get back to it." Nodding, the Woadians threw themselves into the ramparts, stuffing new cells into their lasguns.

"I'll get the stubber set up." Theni said, hauling the weapon to the battlements. Svyr helped him, hooking a long belt of rounds into its chamber. No doubt they mistrusted the weapon that had claimed the lives of their comrades, but practicality demanded its use. Yang enjoyed a moment of rest, uncapping her canteen and relishing in a swig of musky water.

"That was insane." Ros said, her face coated in soot. She turned to loose a few lasbolts.

"I like insane. It got rid of the tower, didn't it?" With a few clicks, the stubber roared to life as Theni flooded the siege-grounds with a torrent of lead.

"True. You fucking reek though." Yang looked down, her stomach churning with bile at the sight of her flak armor. Bits of flesh and squirming maggots coated her, and gangrenous skin dripped off Ember Celica. Vomit threatened to add itself to the grime, but she bit the reflex down.

She doused herself in canteen water, tearing loose a fallen warrior's tunic to use as a cloth. While the battle ebbed away, she cleansed herself, making sure to purge her weapons thoroughly. The attackers were beating a retreat back to their camp, hounded by stubber-fire. Jorvis emerged from the gatehouse, scowling at the enemies' backs.

"I heard an explosion. I'm assuming Trooper Xiao Long was responsible?"

"Guilty, Sarge." Yang said, scrubbing the last of the blood from her gauntlets. "Fatass didn't know how to die." She shuddered, remembering the languid, rotting form of the enemy. Thank the Emperor her hair had been tucked away under her helmet. More thunderous echoes shook the walls of Shao-la as more siege towers succumbed to Woadian explosives. Each one was a punch in the gut, a brutal churning gurgle.

Though they repelled the assault, the mood among the Woadians was somber. Fifteen more of their own had fallen, succumbed to sword wounds and stubber rounds. Their sister platoon had been decimated by the assault, as the brunt of the melee had fallen on their shoulders. Many more were wounded, hands clasping arrows that jutted out from gaps in their armor. Lacerations and stab-wounds marked others, clutched at with feeble, shaking fingers.

Bodies choked the battlements, heretic and guardsman alike. Yang knew many of the lifeless faces. She hadn't been as close with them, but they were still familiar.

_Whatever Weiss is after, it better be worth it._

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**A/N: Aw yiss, mutha fuckin' battle scenes. I hope you guys enjoyed! It was certainly a blast to write! As always, I'd love to hear what you guys have to say! Hearing your guys' reactions is always makes my day. :D**

**Review Replies:**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I guess you'll just have to wait and see! :D**

**Slayer 10321: See the above reply! :3**

**The Walrus of Eden: I'm glad you like him! He's really grown on me as well. The Imperium doesn't have an official problem with homosexuality, if the Cain books are anything to go by. (He comments on a pair of lesbians without a hint of rancor or accusations of HERESY!). Although going by a planet-to-planet basis, there's bound to be a benighted word or two who look down on it.**

**Zedicus101: Glad you're enjoying yourself! I'd check the SV thread though, there seems to be more discussion there. (The SB one has seemed to atrophy for some reason).**

**OBSERVER01: That actually sounds fucking badass. I loved the PJ books! Yang &amp; Ruby= daughter of ares (Ruby aligns herself with Artemis), while Weiss is a daughter of Athena, and Blake is either a daughter of Hades or a minor god).**

**Gafgar: I hope the chapter assuaged your questions!**

**RED Roman Pyro: It certainly seems that way! But I doubt it would be better to wait for those doors to break. They're awfully tough, and if they're broken, it means bad, bad things!**

**Guest: That's fine! Thanks for the help!**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Here's an awesome siege then! :D**

**Mintskittle: I'm sorry! As noted above, the Ecclesiarchy doesn't have an official problem with it. They're not worried about a few deviants not reproducing, not when you have worlds that can hold a hundred billion people. Oh, and Yang did indeed hit a growth spurt between S2 and now! Thanks for your awesome reviews!**

**Heitomos: Thanks for your reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself! As to the blanks, I've spoke on this before: due to my interpretation of blanks, keeping just one near Weiss would be violently dangerous to her. Even if she could muscle through, the newly-awakened test subject wouldn't fare as well.**

**Nemris: Oh believe me, you ain't seen the last of it.**

**SixPerfections: I MISSED YOU, BUDDY! :D Glad to see you're still around! So glad you're still with me and enjoying yourself. :) We'll see just what Josephus has in store for Ransha, but for now, you'll just have to wait and see! Thanks for the reviews, man!**

* * *

**Thanks so much you guys! You're the best fans I could ask for! :3**


	22. Friends, Family, Honor

**A/N: Woot, chapter 21! Let's go, go, go! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Friends, Family, Honor**

_"You are the firstborn. The weight you have upon your shoulders is immense. I wish this were not the case, but rarely do the strings of Fate allow for personal choice." – The eldar Caelus Tou'Her, to his daughter._

"Ladders! Ladders!" The cry went up and down the walls of Shao-la, not two hours after the first assault. Gamma platoon was still recovering, mourning their latest losses and tending to their wounded. Delta had suffered the worst of it. They were down to half-strength, and there had been no time to rotate or reinforce.

The battlements rang with activity, boots by the dozens ringing against the stone as the Woadians manned their posts, ramming fresh cells into their lasguns.

"Emperor! They just keep coming!" Caolin cried, already spearing the enemy with the crimson lances of his long-las. The stubber roared to life, raking the advancing battle-lines with a torrent of high-caliber rounds. The weapon was murderously effective. Yang fed it as Theni fired, letting the ammo flutter through her hands as she guided it into the weapon.

Yet the black-green beetles continued their advance, weathering the Woadian's wrath with unnatural determination. Hundreds of heretics fell to the withering fire, but they still bore their enormous ladders aloft, a tsunami of muscle, steel and darkened wood.

"Get some!" Ros cried, pouring lasbolts into the crowd. It was like shooting fish in the barrel, except there were so many fish you couldn't even see the bottom. Their foul war-cries assaulted them, the words incomprehensible yet gut-churning all the same. "Shoot the carriers!" She shouted, pointing at the men who bore the crude ladders.

A burst of fire from the stubber cut down two of them, splitting the wood apart and churning the armored forms into chum.

"Fuck you!" Theni shouted, muted by the stubber's staccato cry. Further down the wall, a heavy weapons team set up a heavy bolter. Explosive shells tore into the lines, sending up geysers of dirt and human-ish meat. Bullets ricocheted off the ramparts, the untrained rifles of the heretics focused on the defenders. The noise of it all was tremendous.

"Stand firm!" Jorvis roared from within the gatehouse, his bolt pistol barking with unerring precision. An arrow whizzed past Yang, before another scraped her helmet.

"They're here! Bayonets! BAYONETS!" Ros cried, hurling a grenade over the ramparts. Theni adjusted, the stubber punching into the struggling attackers. For every ladder-team they cut down, two more took its place. A grappling hook arced over the battlements, scraping against the stone before finding purchase. Yang poured aura into her arms and tore it loose, hauling the rope and its thrower to the top of the wall. He screamed as Woadian bayonets tore him to shreds.

The ladders ascended, carrying aloft a cadre of frothing necrotic warriors at their tops. There had to be a hundred of them. Yang caught one of the warriors as his ladder came crashing down. Using his momentum and her tremendous strength, she tore him loose and sent him hurtling behind her, sending him to shatter apart on the streets of Shao-la.

She emptied her lasgun down the ladder, each shot throwing an attacker off its steps. Smoking and steaming, her lasgun coughed its last beam before dying away.

"Dry!" She cried, realizing. She'd spent the last of her cells. "I'm dry!"

"Me too!" Ros cried. "Where's our fucking ammo?" She slapped Kella on the back of his head. "Call in a resupply ASAP! I want a crate of cells on that elevator in the next five seconds!"

Mael's rocket launcher fired, ripping into another group of enemies. The ladder they manned broke apart, spilling its contents onto the grounds below. Yang ripped her power sword free of its scabbard, relishing the crackling hum as it activated. A berserk and rotting form crested the walls, a snarl spilling from his sharpened teeth.

With an arc of blue light, she decapitated him, and his lifeless body fell to the earth. With a roar of effort, she pushed the ladder over, where the warriors that ascended it crushed their comrades beneath them.

"It's jammed!" Theni screamed, his fist hammering the stubber. It's jammed!" Another ladder slammed against the walls, directly in front of him. "Oh fuck! Fuck!" Yang helped him, prying the gun open. She slapped it, and it spat out a bent casing. "Come on, come on, come on." Theni hissed, laying a fresh belt of ammunition into the weapon. He slammed the breecher down and racked it, just as the first attacker reached the ramparts. He squeezed the trigger and the man fell apart, drenching them in blood.

"Eat shit!" Yang cried, hacking the man behind him in half. A berserker hauled himself over the battlements, landing among the Woadians closer to the gatehouse. He screamed an infernal prayer, his wicked sword whirling around without rhyme or reason. No opening presented itself within the man's crazed swinging, and her comrades' hesitation allowed a contingent of warriors to break through their defenses.

Yang dashed over, catching the berserker's blade across her chest. Her aura stopped the blade in its tracks where it scraped against her flak armor. It still sent pain flooding into her flank. Roaring, she sent a wild slash across his chest, splitting him from neck to navel. Caolin aided her, hauling his bayonet into an attacker, pinning him to the wall. His long-las barked twice, boiling away the flesh that sat on the end of its bayonet.

Asgeg neglected her bayonet, preferring to mash her enemies under the brutal strength of her augmentic arm. While her comrades fought tooth and nail to stem the attackers, Yang set about destroying the ladders, using her power sword to cut rungs and split frames. When a spear thrust itself under her flak armor, she felt her semblance broil to life, begging to be unleashed. This battle was a joke. Unbound, she could butcher these men with no effort. As it was, she was stuck fighting a war of attrition, doing her best to stem enemy reinforcements while her comrades bared their souls.

The enemy salient broke under the pressure. Flanked and outnumbered, the besiegers died by the dozen, torn apart by Woadian steel. Dashing forward, Asgeg clasped the last ladder, grunting and screaming as her metal arm strained to push it over. She succeeded, toppling the construct with a final agonized cry.

"I guess your new bionics come in… handy." Yang said, grinning through the blood that washed over her face and armor.

"I… Oh Holy Emperor that was terrible." Asgeg replied, sitting down with an exhausted breath, a wide smile on her face.

"Ammo's here!" Syvr cried, pointing towards the elevator. Ranshan children darted forward, carrying wicker baskets chock-full of recharged cells. The grateful woadians accepted them at once, scrambling to get their hands on fresh cells. Restocked, they opened up, cutting down the next wave of ladder-bearers with a resurgent fury.

Two of Weiss' Valkyries swept low, raking the crowded battlegrounds with explosive shells, cutting huge swathes of death into the attackers. Under the scream of their jets, the assault wavered and stalled. The ladders made easy, slow targets, and without them, the beseigers could not progress. As the bodies of their dead piled up, the heretics broke, running back to their lines. Jeers and taunts hounded their backs, hewn from the throats of relieved Woadians.

Yang took a deep breath, wiping the blood from her face._ They're still just probing us. Grinding us down to our last frayed nerves. We must have killed thousands today, and there's still no end to them._ She looked over her friends, and her face went pale.

"Mael!" The man was laying in a puddle of blood, stunted gasps of horror and pain escaping him. A blade had opened him up, cutting a deep gash across his chest.

"Unhhwaa!" He bellowed, half-tounge working. "Unnn! Unnna! Unna!"

"Medic!" Yang cried, running over and sliding down next to him. The wound was weeping profusely. She tore his armor off, peeling away the blood-soaked tunic beneath. "Medic!" She cried again. Her tongue ran over her lips. Battlefield medicine wasn't her specialty, but if a medic didn't show, she was all he had.

Her hands pressed against his flesh, desperate to stem the flow of blood. She pumped aura into the wound, for whatever good it would do. For those who hadn't unlocked their aura, it was like throwing a bucket of water onto a raging forest fire.

A pair of small, wrinkled hands fell on hers. She looked up in surprise. An old woman stood over her, adorned with a bloody aporn and nurses' grab. Determination and decades of age pulled the features of her face taught. A black band with a thick gold stripe wrapped itself around her arm.

"I care now." She said in broken low gothic. Barking orders to some similarly garbed civilians that had ascended with the ammunition, they placed the wounded onto canvas stretchers. Tearing a brush from her apron, the old woman marked Mael's forehead with a black line, and her lackeys carried him onto the lift. She rang the bell at the top of the elevator, and it descended, burdened with the wounded that lay upon it.

Yang approached the woman as she offered salves to the walking wounded of Gamma platoon, who accepted them with thanks. She tapped her shoulder.

"Is he gonna make it?" She asked.

"No know." She replied. "I gave him hurry-order." She said, tapping her forehead, the same place she'd marked Mael. "Best I do." She turned to administer more help before Yang rested a hand on her shoulder, desperate to get her attention.

"Is there a hospital down there?" Yang asked. She should have gone with. The woman nodded.

"Heal-tent. Family runs clinic… now help run heal-tent." Yang sighed. Hopefully, these primitive people could help her friend. It had been a nasty wound.

The elevator returned, carrying even more civilians. They bore supplies and ammo for the Woadians, in addition to skins of water and gel-packets. They all wore black armbands, and set about their duties with all available haste.

"Thanks, by the way." Yang said, offering her canteen to the weathered woman. She accepted it with a small smile, and took a small sip of water.

"Our own thanks for defeating Yǒng-lo." Yang blinked.

"The what-now?"

"Yǒng-lo." The nurse repeated, gesturing out at the enemy. "No translate well. Best guess… 'those who sing with shit in their mouths'."

"Ah." Yang said. The old woman's deadpan translation would normally have her giggling, but she couldn't find it in her to smile. "We're happy to help." She nodded, looking out over Shao-la, her eyes flicking over the tents that spread themselves long the base of the walls. Yang could see a stream of wounded shuffling into a big tent close to the town square. _Be okay Mael. Please._

"Us too." The old woman said. "It is Len-wu. We do not run from Len-wu."

* * *

The glittering glory that was Il-Kaithe greeted Maion as she returned through the webway. Though one of the most militaristic of its craftworld brethren, its spiraling wraithbone halls did not belie the crusading nature of its inhabitants. She breathed deep of the filtered air. Their mission to exterminate Josephus' advance party had been a success. The secondary objective to determine the his motives had been, according to her Exarch, a partial success. The war party shuffled along, bearing the spirit stones of their fallen brethren aloft on a ceremonial ark. Partial successes rang hollow in her pointed ears.

Those that tread on the Path of Grief wept for the fallen Scorpions, lilting voices carrying a lament to the artificial sky of the mustering ground. Their music flooded Maion's ears, singing of heroes' deeds and noble deaths.

The words, beautiful though they were, tasted like ash. Lorian had died a noble death, but many of his comrades had not. Some had their backs broken over the knee of an unnatural brute, others torn apart by boltguns, burst apart before they could strike. No Scorpion deserved such a fate. Not even Lorian, small-minded and foolish though he had been.

Her Exarch led them into an adjoining hall, the procession of warriors silent and purposeful. Their commander the Autarch must be informed of the results of their mission. A lift bore him to his meditation chambers, revealing the resplendent sprawling cities of Il-Kaithe through its plated windows. Maion's fingers caressed the glass. Seeing her home in its entirety never failed to provoke emotion within her. Two billion lives were encased within the craftworld, bustling and living and breathing in its magnificent wraithbone metropolises.

Gifted with uncommon skill, the bonesingers of Il-Kaithe had wrought grand cities with their craft. Spiraling towers reached towards the false sky, connected to their brethren by a nexus of sparkling white bridges. Smaller buildings filled them, packed within the soaring circular structures. White-barked trees lined the grand roads, their leaves a bloody crimson. Pylons studded the craftword, flanked with floating platforms that served as a hive for the craftword's fliers.

The sight was lost as the lift ascended, reaching the Autarch's chambers. He was alone, meditating. White scrawlings covered the floor, circling his seat of meditation. Long crystal windows let in a warm, glowing light.

"You've returned." He spoke aloud, to address the war party as a whole.

"We have." Maion's Exarch replied, his words uneasy and untried. It had been months since he last spoke.

"Have you dispatched Josephus' war party?" He asked. His speech was calm and measured, water given form as spoken word.

"Yes, Lord Elladar. After examining their corpses, I discovered a hint regarding their master's intentions." Her Exarch replied. Autarch Oron Elladar turned to face them. He was large among his kin, towering over his subordinates by several heads. Corded muscle shone through his loose-fitting stola, his eyes a fridgid blue. Among the warriors of Il-Kaithe, there were few more renowned then Elladar.

"A hint, you say? That is a careful choice of words, Celadel." She could feel her Exarch's mind roil at the use of his name. She smiled behind her aspect helmet. _He's made him uncomfortable._

"Not even the mon'keigh spawn knew what his master's goals were… but he had a basic idea." Her Exarch paused. "They seek an artifact. One of incredible power." The Autarch considered this for a moment.

"Knowing he seeks an artifact is more knowledge then we left with. I must ponder this further."

"More pondering, Lord Elladar?" The Exarch's words cut through Maion, as well as her comrades. She knew her leader's opinions on the Black Crusade, felt him roil at Il-Kaithe's inaction. She did not expect him to vocalize such musings. "Abaddon threatens us on an unprecedented scale, and even the Webway is under assault. The mon'keigh Ahriman seeks the Black Library, and is choking the Webway with Harlequin dead. Chaos is at large in the galaxy, and its bane, Il-Kaithe, stands by and watches. Ulthwé, as always, stands against its legions. You took the title of Autarch, yet you let its facilities grow stagnant. It is time for war." Her Exarch finished, impassive behind his helmet. Elladar turned away from the war party, once again gazing out over the cities of Il-Kaithe.

"We will march in due time, you have my solemn word. But, my old friend, your war-mask blinds you to the wider scope that encompasses this conflict. Rest now, for I will have need of your Shrine shortly. I regret that words are all that I can bring to bear at the moment." Bowing again, her Exarch spun on his heel and departed, the cue for the war party to follow.

The journey back to the Shadowed Sword Shrine was a long and silent one. Their Exarch's words had struck a chord within them. Maion agreed with him, and restlessness gnawed at her heart. That the armies of Il-Kaithe had not marshaled in strength worried her. If there was a better time to strike at the forces of Chaos, she couldn't imagine it.

She sighed. Autarch Elladar was wiser than she was. Perhaps he saw the red strings of fate that wound their way through the Crusade that was at their doorstep. Perhaps he had yet to seek the Farseers' judgment. _Uncle Sylvis' last prophecy was dire_, she remembered.

The shrine was waiting for her, an emerald wraithbone pagoda with ebony roof-tiles that reflected the stars. It sat atop a small stepped pyramid, surrounded by rock gardens and training fields. Ascending the storied steps, Maion took in the Shrine's ethereal beauty, the majesty of age and legacy. Within, the halls were sparse and soaring, lined with exquisite wooden floors. At the end of a long chamber, she found her storage unit, an empty jewel-studded rack.

She shed her armor, placing it in its storied container. According to the runes inscribed above the rack, she was the four-hundred and fifty-first Warrior to wear the armor into battle. Her war-mask was last, the aspect helmet sitting atop her armor and weapons, glaring at her with its cruel, furrowed eyes. Her days as a warrior were on hold until she donned her mask once more.

She bathed herself in the springs, scrubbing at the grime that had coated her. Maion relished the cleansing water as it soaked into her bare skin, her ruddy waist-length hair spooling around her as she bathed. Refreshed, she dressed herself in an immaculate white stola. Around her neck, she wore a jeweled scorpion emblem that declared her allegiance to her Aspect Shrine. The emeralds shone and danced as the light from the Shrine's ever-burning torches played off their countless facets. Beside it sat the crest of the Tou'Her, a moon clasped by two hands.

With a formal, unrequited goodbye to her Exarch and her comrades, she left the shrine, seeking out her home on the outskirts of Dolone. The crowded streets were dispersing as the night-cycle began, the sky growing dark as the lights that gave them their false sun dimmed. Still, music filled the streets, spilling out from the throats of a hundred singers, languid strings echoing against the wraithbone buildings. It was several hours before she came upon her family's compound.

It was a collection of twelve sprawling buildings, with four more planned in the near future. Unlike many of the neighboring estates, most of the buildings were squat and flat-roofed, with long panes of sparkling glass.

Wraithbone walls separated it from the rest of Dolone, elegant ivory spines that reached into the night sky. Aunt Rhona had built them, the bonesinger separating the compound with several decades' worth of lilting song. The Tou'Her family was in no danger, but the citizens of Il-Kaithe did not regard them well. They did their best to accommodate their neighbors and keep to themselves.

The doors swung open, revealing the atrium, the central courtyard around which the other houses were centered. Sculptured fountains trickled water into basins wrought from precious metals, covered with inscriptions and shining gems. Ivy hung from the walls and roof, her mother's rooftop garden overflowing with life. A soft tone filled the courtyard, the wooden fountain arm ringing against a wraithbone bowl.

Her home– never failed to bring her peace. The family patriarch strode the garden, his shoulder-length onyx hair bound into a braid, wrapped in golden netting. She went to join him, climbing the marble steps that jutted out from the side of the building. Reaching the rows of resplendent growth, her fingers caressed the luminescent flowers that bloomed in the night sky.

"Greetings, Brother."

"Maion." He said, bowing his head. "Welcome back." Of the many Tou'Her that trod upon the Path of the Warrior, Mirodir was the most accomplished. He belonged to the Dire Avenger Aspect Shrine, a Shrine that exemplified the god Khaine's aspect of a noble and merciless warrior. "How fared the mission?"

"Well enough. Though not as well as I had hoped," she spat, relishing in the taste of anger on her tongue. Her war-mask too often kept her emotions bound behind its exquisite finish, and her comrades' practiced stoicism grated on her.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"How are our siblings, brother? I've been away for too long." Mirodir sighed, his long fingers curling around the garden railing.

"We are surviving. Phyladra and Asuirel have been called upon. Juros is recuperating from wounds suffered during a raid we conducted. Cilla, Suri, Amolos and Lauriel are in Guardian training."

"Truly, war is upon us." Maion replied. Many of her siblings were scattered across the Aspect Shrines of Il-Kaithe, preparing to receive Abaddon and his legions with fury and wrath. Some walked different Paths, but more felt the light of their soul drawing them to the Path of the Warrior.

"These are dark times, Sister. Soon, Elladar will gather us in force. Il-Kaithe will march to war, in a scale never before seen."

"As we should." Maion said. Mirodir shook his head, pointed ears flitting in and out of his ebony hair.

"I fear for the future. We -the Tou'Her- will be called upon as never before. Am I ready? Is Mother's trust in me misplaced?" Maion patted her brother's shoulder, brining a measure of calm to his countenance.

"We know she made the right choice. We would have no one else lead us." He smiled at this, teeth shining in the torches that lined their mother's garden. The wooden arm rang once more against the wraithbone basin, filling the gardens with its clear and calming tone.

"No matter what, we must not fall. The Tou'Her have a destiny placed upon our shoulders. We are the future of our race, even if the rest of Il-Kaithe is too blind to see it. If we are exterminated in the coming war…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I fear not only for the future of our home, but of the Eldar as a whole."

"That is partly why I have returned. I have no intention to join the Infinity Circuit any time soon... the time has come." She said. Mirodir nodded sternly.

"I agree. It is time you learned your Semblance." Maion smiled, looking out over the twinkling lights of Dolone. They were the descendants of the Traveler, the Soul-Wielder. Despite her brother's reservations, they would face down the coming doom with all their might and furor._ To do otherwise would bring our growing family to shame and ruin._

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**A/N: There's heresy afoot... _extra_ heresy. :D**

**Hope you guys enjoyed! What are your thoughts/theories/reactions? I always love to hear what you guys have to say! :D**

**The only real note I have is that I have no real idea what eldar society and family life is like, so if there's a problem with what I've written, please let me know. (Outside of the last pararaph... you're just gonna hafta deal with that! :D) I imagined the family structure to be very similar to feudal Japanese clans or the Roman _Pater Familias _concept, so that's what I've presented here.**

**Review Replies: **

**DanAbnettFan1997: Thanks so much, man! Always happy to hear from you! :3**

**The Walrus of Eden: Hahaha glad you're enjoying it! I guess we'll see what the enemy has in store...**

**OBSERVER01: Nope, definitely a Nurglite! **

**Gafgar: Yeah, they tried bum-rushing the city again... You know, I think something's awry...**

**Inquisitor Azreal: Oh wow, I'm blushing! hahaha thank you so much for your kind words! I'm really happy you're enjoying yourself so far!**

**reality deviant: Thanks!**

**RED Roman Pyro: I disagree. They don't really have the perspective about the guard that we do. They don't know that this is what the guard is like. Plus, it's not like they can just shut down their grief over losing friends because 'it's expected'.**

**Dayanne Rockstar: It makes her sad as well! Glad you're enjoying yourself!**

**Skepsis Forever: I answered this in RED Roman Pyro's response, but I'll repeat it here: the Woadians don't actually know what being a guardsman entails (i.e. horrific casualties), since they're pretty new at all this. Also, they're human beings, they're not immune to grief just because they're expected to die. I will admit, they have it much better than most Regiments.**

**Enuncia: Oh, holy crap, Enuncia! Thanks for dropping a review, I'm a big fan of Bunny and the Bully! Fans of Cardin x Velvet, look no further than here! :3**

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**Thanks so much you guys! You rock! Can't wait to see you again next week! :D**


	23. Smoke Them If You Got Them

**A/N: Aw yuss, Chapter 22! :D**

* * *

**Book 2: Corruption's End**

* * *

**-Chapter 22: Smoke Them If You Got Them-**

"_Munitorum-brand boots. Munitorum-brand lasgun. Munitorum-brand body bags. Munitorum-brand souls. I don't care what she said, I'm fucking done with it all." - Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik in her service journal_

The smell of it all was the worst part. Hours after the besiegers -the Yǒng-lo- retreated, the stink settled in. The rotten scent of the arch-foe was everywhere, mingled with the familiar tinge of las-charred flesh and voided bowels. The smell of a warzone. Yang looked out over the ramparts where her comrades had stood firm. The sand they'd spilled out onto the battlements soaked up the blood well enough, but it couldn't hide away the death that happened here. At least this way, the Woadian dead left burnable corpses behind, instead of leaving them to burn like on Jala Prime.

"Lho-stick?" Ros asked, handing her a roll of paper. Yang looked at her, confused. Her friend repeated the question. Oh. Right. A cigarette. She accepted it without hesitation. Yang wasn't one to smoke, but any measure to block out the choking odors appealed to her. Lighting it, she took a deep drag, remembering the taste of Vadiik's smoke that clung about her frame.

"They're tough bastards, I'll give 'em that." Ros said, lighting her own cigarette. Dark circles pulled her eyes down to rest in bluish bags, lines creasing her face. Yang nodded, looking out over the besiegers' camp. They had halted their attacks for now, choosing instead to labor over some unknowable chore.

"Fuckin' A, Ros." Yang said, relishing the scent of smoke as it blocked away the foul miasma of war, scouring her tongue clean of corpse-rot. "They don't give up easy." She scoffed. "That one fatass took a dozen lasbolts and three tube-charges to go down." Ros shook her head in disbelief, letting smoke spill from a thin gap in her lips.

"Emperor, how I hate them." She muttered. Yang didn't reply, instead flicking ash over the ramparts and onto the growing pile of corpses that sat outside the walls of Shao-la.

"We should probably go check on Mael." She said. Ros nodded in agreement, striding over to the other edge of the walls.

"Sarge says we're on watch rotation now. He doesn't think they'll attack again today." She rubbed her eyes. They'd been awake for almost a whole day, and after two clashes against the enemy, she was exhausted. Yang wasn't fairing much better. "Emperor," she sighed. "I hope he's okay."

"Me too." Seeing him scream in silence twisted her guts into a knot. Yang leaned over the side of the ramparts. _Hopefully, Sarge is right, and they won't come back for the rest of the day._

Yang sighed, taking another drag. At this rate, the bodies outside the walls would stack high enough act as ladders. A Ranshan woman approached them, a wide wicker basket balanced on the crown of her head. Like the local medics, she wore a black armband with a stripe of gold. The population of Shao-la had come forward in a rush of volunteers since the return of the Yǒng-lo legions. Every available man, woman and child assisted the Inquisitorial forces with gusto. The women fetched water and cooked paltry meals. The men helped shore up defenses, hauled away the dead. Children scuttled around like beetles, working as ammo-jacks and couriers.

The woman reached out with a palm worn smooth by labor. "Empty batt-rey?" She asked in clipped gothic. Almost every las-cell in the platoon was spent, poured out into the mass of green and black-clad warriors.

Yang and Ros handed the Ranshan woman their dry cells. Below, the _Full Metal Bitch_ and _Our Lady's Heart_ served as impromptu charging stations, the Leman Russ tanks humming as they refilled their ammo supply.

Caolin walked over, tossing his spent hot-shot batteries into the woman's basket. She thanked them with a quick prayer in Ranshan before attending to the rest of Gamma platoon. His face was drawn like Ros', weariness pulling the long scar across his lips into a thin line.

"Hey guys," he said. Blood washed the front of his flak armor, and his war paint was smeared across his face. "Anything going on?"

"Nope. Cigarette?" Yang asked, handing him the Munitorum-issued smokes.

"What?"

"Sorry, lho-stick." _Damn it. C'mon. You're not that tired. _He nodded, plucking a smoke from a box and accepting a light from the end of Ros' ash.

"How many more times?" He asked, staring out over the ramparts. "How many times we gotta push 'em back?" Ros looked at him.

"Emperor, the fuck's wrong with you?" He waved her concern away, his hand trailing wisps of acrid smoke.

"Sorry. The smell's getting to me." He took a drag, running his other hand through his milky-white hair. "It's just these civvies, you know? They're breakin' their backs tryin' to help us out, and you know that once our Lady splits, they're done for." Yang finished her lho-stick, flicking the stub into the corpse-midden below. She didn't know what Weiss was up to, and she'd been very vague about this Archive of hers. Whatever it was, hopefully it put them on a collision course with Josephus. The thought of leaving Shao-la to burn made Yang feel like punching things, and a Chaos Lord seemed like a good place to start.

"She won't let the city fall. I'm sure she's got a trick up her sleeve." Yang said. Weiss had always been a stickler for details on Remnant, and as an Inquisitor, her pursuit of perfection had flowered into full-blown paranoia. Then again, Weiss could just say 'fuck it' and glass the whole planet to be sure no taint of chaos remained.

"I miss Rhain." Ros said. Reaching for another lho-stick, Yang grimaced. The smell was returning.

"Me too," she said, remembering their bearded friend. "I think he'd like this place though. Shao-la."

"What makes you say that?" Ros asked.

"No, I see it." Caolin said, taking her offered light. "He was a family man, through and through. I think he'd like to see all the brats scurrying around." Yang chuckled.

"He didn't get angry too often, but I'm sure he'd pitch a fit worthy of Commissar Asshole himself if we had to abandon this place." She said. Caolin grinned, taking a deep drag.

"Yeah. I miss him too," he said.

"He's at the side of the God-Emperor." Ros reminded them. "Let's just hope Mael doesn't join him so soon after."

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor growled. Even with her psychic talents, searching through the countless volumes was growing wearisome. A blizzard of parchment and scrolls whorled around her, each one scanned in seconds. The abundance of servo-skulls and cherubim had been spectacularly unhelpful as well. She preferred hunting human targets. Then, she could take what she wanted from their minds in a matter of minutes. Now, the situation forced her to pore over thousands of manuscripts for hours on end. Progress was slow.

Her kasrkin, long adjusted to her flagrant displays of psychic power, went about their business. They wrestled or gambled, as none of them could aid her in any meaningful way. They were soldiers, not librarians. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave away the onset of a headache. Her kasrkin were good people. Loyal. Many of them were the same fresh-faced youths she'd requisitioned all those years ago, now grizzled and scarred by twenty-odd years of service. It had been a spectacular pain obtaining them. The higher-ups on Cadia had fought her tooth-and-nail when she'd requisitioned them the first time. When she came a decade later seeking replacements for the fallen, her reputation sent them scrambling to foist them upon her.

"Sergeant Arden?" The man snapped to attention, dropping his dice in a flash.

"Yes, my Lady?" He said, saluting.

"At ease, Sergeant. I was wondering if you could fetch me some recaf? It appears as though I'll be working through the night." He nodded, relegating the task to Petir, who rolled his eyes in annoyance. He mumbled something about bringing some for everyone else.

"My Lady, is that wise?" Nicolas asked, looking up from one of the tomes the Lady Inquisitor had discarded. His eyes were a deep violet, just like Yang's. He was one of the replacements, an eager donation from a blueblooded Cadian family. An exceptional soldier, but unlike his kasrkin brethren, he preferred a quieter method to pass the time. "You've been down here since we arrived. Even Inquisitors need their sleep, right?"

"A completely unfounded myth." The Lady Inquisitor replied with small smile. "Although I appreciate your concern."

"It _is_ my duty after all." He said with a shrug. Returning to her scrolls, the Lady Inquisitor frowned. According to the records, the only visitors in the past few years were the Archive Keepers. She'd interviewed them thoroughly, but not one showed a sign of corruption, let alone hinted at what Josephus sought within the expansive halls.

The runners Ira sent informed her that the forces of the arch-foe sung out his name in their foul chants, but that only compounded her questions. Did he already infiltrate the Archives, and the uprising was the result of his passing? Or was it a cult he seeded generations ago, finally brought to bear so that he might break the Archives open in person?

Many of the tomes and ledgers she'd leafed through were fascinating on their own, but since they weren't relevant to her inquiry, they had to be tossed aside. A pattern was emerging in her notes, but it wasn't anything substantial yet, let alone something to act upon.

She stood, deciding to take a quick respite before her recaf arrived. Walking over to her astropaths, she rested a hand on Calista's shoulder. The poor girl was trembling.

"Any word?" They'd flown down a few hours after the heretic army arrived. The Lady Inquisitor wanted them close, as she'd sent a few feelers out regarding Josephus and the Archives. The astropath shook her head, index fingers bouncing off each other.

"N-nothing yet, m-my Lady." She said. Taki nodded, his sightless eyes flickering. His voice was a thin whisper as it slid out from his face wrappings.

"I find myself in the same disposition."

"Wilver?" Wind-Through-The-Valley shrugged, his quill-hand still and unmoving.

"No messages as of yet, my Lady." She nodded.

"Very well. Would you enjoy some recaf? I've sent for some."

"M-my Lady is too kind." Calista said, retreating into the hood of her robe. The Lady Inquisitor chuckled.

"I need you all at peak performance. These are dark times after all, and we find ourselves in a difficult predicament." Even if she found what she was looking for, Totha's Archives was still an issue. She could not leave it for the arch-foe to find or defile, yet its reserves of knowledge could prove useful to the Imperium. _But alas, I do not have the means to eradicate the legions outside the walls of Shao-la while leaving the Archives intact._

"Your will be done, my Lady." Taki said. "We are with you always." He continued, bowing his head. _Always so loyal_, the Lady Inquisitor mused. He was her oldest astropath, about to reach his fourth decade in her service.

Petir returned with the recaf, much to the delight of her gathered retinue. "My Lady," he said, handing her a steaming cup. Just in time, as 32-Scholar Intendant swooped up to her, its quill still scribbling madly. His passing frightened Calista, who retreated further into her robes with a squeak.

"I HAVE FOUND THE DOCUMENTS YOU HAVE REQUESTED." It said, hovering around the Inquisitor's head.

"Excellent. Please have the Keepers bring me some copies." She took a sip of her recaf. It was burnt and it tasted like warmed-over piss, but it would serve. Returning to her current mess of paperwork, she let loose a long sigh. Useless. Trying to extrapolate Josephus' movements and intentions from records of his past misdeeds was a slow and methodical process, one that did not lend itself well to the time constraint she labored under. The sheet of parchment in front of her (a record of cultist activity in the local subsector) flew away, its text just as useless as the last one.

A half hour later, her the head Archive Keeper interrupted her readings.

"Lady Inquisitor, the documents." He said. Dozens of students trailed behind him, each of them carrying a truly astounding amount of tomes. There had to be at least two hundred books to pore over. "The collected index of known heretics and their actions in the sector for the past… millennium."

The Lady Inquisitor took a long sip of recaf. This was going to be a pain.

* * *

The King of Shao-la rested. His operation had been a long one, but with the Lady Inquisitor allowing every expense to keep his Radience's health, Darron had no trouble retrieving the bullet from within his body. Now he slept off the anesthesia, but did not do so peacefully. He moaned and whimpered, sweat pouring down his face.

Darron sighed. It made sense that the boy still squirmed. As with all injuries inflicted by the arch-foe, the bullet had to be excised swiftly. However, this one had been left to rot. It was a testament to the King's will that he'd managed to survive for so long. Chera sat over the boy, brushing black locks away from his freckled forehead. The local nurses kept their distance from the kasrkin, their eyes full of worry.

"Don't fret, he'll make it." Darron said to them, wearing a tired smile. They bowed their heads in thanks. _Ignorant peasants_. He thought. No. no, that wasn't fair. They'd tried their best, but they simply didn't have the skills to deal with something so unfamiliar. Every medical text from the Archives only got you so far, after all. When it comes down to bloody brass tacks, you had to to pull the bullet out of there. And five days of neglect had made the wound a complicated procedure.

Chera gave him a proud smile, the one that never failed to make his heart feel whole. Chuckling, he buried a kiss into the shaved half of her head. As always, she'd been a consummate assistant, cleaning the rot that infested the wound while he struggled to remove the collection of lead fragments.

"Good job, babe." He said, withdrawing to wash his hands in a bowl of clean water.

"You always say that." She said, wringing out a washcloth.

"You always do a good job." He replied. "I'd say you'd make a decent nurse if you gave it a shot."

"You think?" Chera said, placing the damp linen rag on the King's forehead. The boy shuddered at the sudden change in temperature.

"Oh, most definitely. I think the uniform would suit you," he said with a wink. She snorted with laughter.

"Thanks, but I'll take my hellgun over a skimpy miniskirt any day. And you know those outfits don't actually exist, right? Purely a product of fantasy and pulp-print."

"I never denied that." Darron said, grinning before a yawn split his mouth wide. "But the idea has its merits." He handed off his bloodied tools to an attendant, who murmured a 'thank you' in heavily accented gothic.

"You should catch a nap."

"I'll live. Remember when I had to patch Harran up? That was on day three of no sleep, and he didn't even have _arms_." Darron had done it though, saved his life while they'd been lit up with enough lasbolts to flash-cook a Hive Tyrant. His role as the unit's commanding officer and its surgeon was an unusual one, but it grew out of necessity. The Captain had an uncanny knack for patching his kasrkin together, a talent honed by twenty years of service to the Lady Inquisitor.

"True, but you're not twenty-five any more, hun." Chera countered with a smile.

"I know. But honestly, I'm not that tired. Swear on the Throne and all the kasrs." He rested an arm around her shoulders, nipping her ear with a playful bite. "And besides, the image of you in a nurse's skirt is better than uncut recaf." She laughed again, leaning into his embrace.

"Keep it up Darron, and I'll keep my Carapace armor on until I'm sixty."

"You'd never last."

"I'd outlast you." Darron huffed a half-laugh, reaching for his lho-sticks. To his dismay, his fingers found nothing but lint. She held up his smokes with a smile. "Not in front of the kid you don't." He sighed.

"You'll be the death of me, woman." She didn't reply, choosing instead to entwine his fingers with his. They watched the King sleep for a while. Soon, their Lady would need them, and this brief moment of peace would be lost.

"Did you ever think what it'd be like to have kids?" Chera asked.

"Sometimes." Darron replied. The idea had crossed his mind now and again. It never lasted long though. It wasn't a question of ability. It was a matter of duty. _We are kasrkin. Not just soldiers, but the best soldiers short of the Adeptus Astartes. Our duty does not lie in breeding_. Their duty barely permitted marriage. They lived as soldiers. One stray lasbolt was all it would take to end it all. This is something they accepted, and they'd resolved to enjoy what they had while it lasted. He smiled.

"If we had any though, I'd hope to the Emperor they'd be like him." Darron said, nodding at the resting king. Chera grinned in agreement. If only all the planetary governors were so capable.

"Just imagine if we were born agri-worlders." She said. Her husband laughed.

"Us? Agri-worlders?"

"We could fuck as much as we wanted, whenever we wanted. Raise a crop of petulant little snots and work the fields until we keeled over." She kissed the stubble on his chin. "And we wouldn't have to bend and scrape to Our Lady's every whim." He chuckled.

"We wouldn't, would we? Although I'd bet you'd nag twice as much to compensate. 'Darron, go feed the grox!' 'Darron, go sow the field!'" He scratched the back of his head, brow furrowing. "Is… is that what they do? I'll suppose I'll have to ask a Woadian." Laughing, Chera punched him on the shoulder.

"You know I'm not serious," she said. "I think I'd fry my brains from boredom." The King stirred in his sleep, murmuring in the local dialect. Their gazes returned to him.

"So, no regrets?" Darron asked.

"Never. I'd dive buck naked into the Eye of Terror before I give up being kasrkin."

"Agreed. Careful though," Darron said with a smile, "Our Lady might actually order us to." Chera beamed, her hand brushing over her glyph-marked shoulder.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Me too."

* * *

Their watch duty ended a few hours later as the sun reached its zenith in the sky. Outside of a few probing squads and trading stray pot-shots, the siege entertained a moment of peace. The Yǒng-lo had found the gatehouse of Shao-la a tough nut to crack, and their reluctance allowed Jorvis some leniency. He permitted Yang's squad a brief sojourn to the city streets, which she was all too happy to take. The smell of the heretics faded as the elevator descended, replaced with the rank aroma of Shao-la at war.

The metallic scents of blood and iron-working fought for dominance, struggling over the cloud of sweat and shit that suffused the city. The disadvantages of a pre-industrial society made themselves all too apparent a few hours after they'd arrived. _They don't even have toilets._ Yang thought, her nose crinkling. _You wanna talk about heresy, there's item number one._ But unlike the Yǒng-lo, the city lacked the underlying reek of decay, and it was an order of magnitude better than the ramparts.

Ros tapped her on the shoulder, a wry grin on her face.

"What's up?"

"Your art piece has a few admirers." She said, pointing. The warrior Yang had thrown behind her a few hours ago hung from a clothesline, saved from splattering against the stone streets of Shao-la. Instead, the thick cord had wrapped itself around his neck, strangling him. A crowd of children too young to ferry ammo cells had taken to circling him, stoning the corpse with peals of shrieking laughter.

Caolin and Ros chuckled. Yang was glad the guy was dead too, but it rankled her seeing children act like that. A few days later, when the line snapped, they'd be treated to a real sight. The bloated corpse would shower them with fetid blood and maggots, and they'd run screaming to their mothers. The thought was abnormally dark for her. It felt like someone was whispering the thought into being. She shuddered. The elevator gate squeaked open, and the moment was lost.

Their feet once more stood on the brick streets of Shao-la. The brief lull in the battle did nothing to stop the bustle of activity below the great walls. The Elodian armor sat behind the gate, the crew smoking lho sticks on top of their tanks, waiting for word from Ira or Colonel Longinus. A bolter-gunner sat a scrawny street urchin on her lap, showing him the inner workings of her weapon as she serviced it. Local spearmen sat in something resembling a battle order, their primitive weapons a veritable forest of iron and pale wood. Their wives, girlfriends, children and other hangers-on spoke with them briefly, stopping by to pray or slip them a mouthful of food.

The song of carpenters' saws filled the streets, accompanied by the constant ringing of hammers on anvils and the grinding of whetstones. To them, this was just another day of siege. What made it different this time was the Inquisitorial forces stationed among them. _Hopefully, we're enough._

They got directions to the 'heal-tent' that the head nurse mentioned. It was farther away from the walls, where the moaning of the wounded did not reach their comrades ears. The nurse had called it a tent, but that didn't do the concept justice. Ranshan builders had converted an entire market square into a hospital, with enormous stretches of canvas hanging over the district, upheld by hastily constructed wooden pylons.

Both Woadian and Ranshan wounded sprawled on flimsy cots. It took awhile of searching before they found Mael, as there was no decipherable means of organization. He was soaked in bloody bandages, and blood matted his shaggy white hair. A nurse sat over him, her face pained and bearing the same marks of weariness as Gamma platoon. Her arms and apron were so soaked in blood, and it took almost a full minute before Yang realized it was the girl he'd danced with.

"Hey." Ros said. The woman looked up for a moment before returning to her needlework. "How're you doing buddy?" He gave them a thumbs down and a defeated groan. His mocha skin was pale and pasty, his chest rising like a limp balloon. Huffing with frustration, the nurse tucked his arm under the flimsy sheets, mumbling something in Ranshan. That he was still conscious spoke volumes about his constitution, but it still made Yang uneasy. Medical supplies were at a premium, and she doubted he was enjoying a luxury like basic painkillers.

"Good to see you made it, big guy." Yang said. Mael groaned. "At least you got a friend to take care of you right?" She threw the woman a wink. She rolled her eyes, and continued suturing. "His name is Mael, by the way," she said, pointing to her friend.

"May-ell?" The woman asked, eyebrow raised. Still, she didn't look up from her work.

"_Mael_," Yang repeated, patting his leg. He waved her away, groaning.

"_Mael_," the nurse said. "He live." She said, tying the last of the thin twine ends together. Caolin breathed a long sigh of relief. "Soo," she said, putting a hand over her bloodstained breast.

"Soo," Ros said, . "Please take care of our friend." She ruffled the wounded man's hair. He groaned in annoyance. "He means a lot to us."

Soo smiled and nodded.

"Thank the Emperor for His mercies," Caolin said when they left the healing tent. Yang grinned, patting him on the back. She was glad to see Mael was okay, but the ramshackle field hospital left a bad taste in her mouth. Her shoulder itched.

* * *

**A/N: Little bit of a breather chapter! Don't worry, the next... holy shit... the next chapters are fucking _crazy_. Hope you enjoyed, and as always, leave your thoughts on the review page! Love to hear everyone's thoughts on the story, major or minor. :D**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: Well hey, if you like them, mission accomplished! :D Also, yuss, best fanfic. ;) hahaha**

**reality deviant: I guess you'll have to wait and find out!**

**InquisitorMarek: Holy shit! Thanks for the super long (and thematic) review! Seriously means a lot! :D Also, shit, you're the guy who writes the GuP crossover! Gotta say, interesting work. :3**

**Knives91: Can't say! So glad you're joining us here on the hype train!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I'll give it a look-see. Hopefully this didn't grate to badly, or at least sounded somewhat plausible.**

**Dom380: Glad you're enjoying her! And believe it or not, Il-Kaithe is probably the most accepting of their kin, considering they're willing to ally themselves with humans and their cousins in Comorroagh! And the Imperial Navy Lances, (realistically speaking) would probably completely destroy the city if they fired on the army. All of the baddies are about 1-2 km away from the city, which in WH40k space battles-terms is danger-close.**

**OBSERVER01: Fund it. :D**

**RED Roman Pyro: I shudder yet laugh at the image. "Me bitz are all glowy-like!"**

**Magisking: Hm. Interesting. :)**

**Gafgar: Guess we'll find out!**

**Legion of Misfits: Glad you're enjoying yourself! Stick around! :D**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Holy shit, Auntie Yang might be the best thing ever.**

**Nemris: Thanks! I'm glad you're having fun!**

**biolaj1998: I've left a lot of clues!**

**Yoshtar: Can't say. What do you think?**

**dksamuri: Thanks!**

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**Ugh, my regular commenters, you guys are the bomb. Seriously, love you guys! :3**


	24. Storm Breaker

**A/N: Longer chapter today, folks! Enjoy! :D**

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**Book 2: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 23: Storm Breaker**

_"Best job I ever had." – Alwin Aarsgaard, 10th Gartenwald Armored_

With the knowledge that Mael was alive, Yang and her friends reported to the wall, their shoulders free of a crushing burden. After their brief sojourn to the healing tent, they found that an all-consuming sheet of grey had swallowed the sky, shrouding the sun from view. More rain was on the way.

Once she returned to her post, Yang used the rest of her off-time to clean her equipment. She dreaded donning her flak armor again. Her back and shoulders already caused her enough pain, thanks to her bust. She'd wait as long as she could to stuff the girls back into that black carapace. She fieldstripped her lasgun, a streamlined process designed to take several seconds. Burnt-black scarring covered the barrel's interior, and the power node was flaking with corrosion. With all the use it'd gotten, the weapon had gone too long without service.

_A capital offense,_ Yang remembered with a chuffing laugh. _The Imperial Guardsman's Uplifting Primer_ had informed them of what would happen if they let their weapons go uncleaned for too long. She smirked. _I shouldn't knock it too much… it's the only source of toilet paper we've had on this rock. _Even the Sarge had appropriated a few copies from his subordinates, returning it with a few pages missing from the blatantly false 'Know Your Foe' section.

Svyr sat down next to her, a lho-stick hanging from his lips. Yang gave him a quick wave that he returned with a grunt.

"Yang."

"Heya buddy."

"Gotta vizzy cloth?" Yang tossed him one, and they shared a long silence as they worked. There wasn't much to say after all. Svyr was never very personal anyway. He was an older man with a puckered las-burn wound near his lips. He kept to himself.

Returning to her lasgun, Yang scrubbed the black from the barrel, careful to cleanse every groove. Ember Celica never needed this kind of service since pumping her aura into the weapon usually kept it clear of debris. _Didn't stop Ruby from being a nut about it_, she thought with a small smile. With careful hands, she picked up the casing of her weapon. It was a M36 Kantrael Pattern Lasgun, whatever that meant. On its side was an Imperial Skull, flanked by angelic wings. Her hand ran along the text scrawled underneath it. A hand fell on her shoulder.

"Something you wanna talk about?" It was Ros.

"Hm?"

"Your prayer." She tapped the scrawling. Almost every Woadian had written prayers on the casings of their weapons, and Yang had mimicked them after meeting with Weiss. "Red like Roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest." She shrugged, shaking out a lho-stick. "That's not a prayer I've heard before."

_That's 'cause it's not a prayer_, Yang thought._ Just… a chorus of sorts._ One that repeated itself in the dreams that visited every so often. They weren't nightmares anymore, not since Weiss had marked her with her glyphs. Still... all she saw was Ruby. All she saw was _Red_.

"The Lady Inquisitor suggested it." _Throne, does it feel weird calling her that_. Accepting a light from Svyr, Ros nodded.

"Fair enough."

"About Our Lady." Svyr said, unscrewing his barrel. "What's she like, anyways? We saw her at the funeral, but none of us know anything about her." His scar twitched. "She's runnin' this shit-show, and she's a total mystery."

"Ooh, tell us!" Caolin said, sidling up next to her.

"You just wanna fuck her." Ros said, rolling her eyes. Yang chuckled.

"No!" Caolin cried, before leaning forward within whispering distance. "_Emperor_, would you keep your voice down?!" He said, eyes wide with fear. "Do you wanna see me get slagged?" Ros gave him a taut grin, flicking ash over the side of the ramparts.

"It'd be pretty funny." She said. Svyr 'harrumphed'.

"Oh, fuck you. That's cruel… even for you, Ros!" Caolin said, scratching the back of his head. "And besides, it's not like that, you know?." He shrugged. "She's just got this air of mystery about her."

"And if you two kids would stop squawking, Yang could answer your damn question." Svyr said. They looked at him. "What? 'S true. Go ahead," he nodded at Yang.

"There isn't much to tell." Yang said. Ros cocked her head.

"Really? You kept disappearing during the trip over here. It's pretty obvious you two were up to something." Yang sighed. She didn't really want to talk about Weiss. One, she'd afraid she'd slip up and actually call her Weiss, and two, she didn't know much about her persona as 'The Lady Inquisitor'.

"She's a secretive person, you know." She started. "It's not like she lets me in on her schemes or anything." _Hell, 'later' is becoming Weiss' watchword._

"So do you two just sit and stare into space?" Caolin said, nudging her. Yang snorted, shaking her head.

"Nah. She likes wine though, I can tell you that much." Watching Weiss slug bottle after bottle concerned her. _She's drinking like… well… me._ Yang spat on the corroded power node, ready to scour the rust away. _On Remnant, she'd shame us all for having as much as a sip of booze in her presence. And that time we got Ruby drunk I thought she was gonna burn all of Beacon down. How times have changed…_

"Everyone likes wine, Yang." Svyr said.

"Fair enough." She sighed, reaching for the unguent. "Well, she wears something else other than power armor."

"Shut up." Caolin said, a smirk stretching out his snake-line scar. Yang grinned too.

"It's true. She's got this leather get-up. And I mean… it's like… _all_ leather." Svyr gave a low whistle. Ros nudged her. "What is it?" The red head have her knowing quirk of the eyebrow. "Oh ha-ha. Very funny. And no. Absolutely not, no way." Weiss had always been cute, sure, but she'd been too frail for Yang's tastes. Now, she was the opposite: paranoid, frigid, unyielding.

"Did I miss something?" Caolin asked.

"Nah man." Yang said, punching Ros on the shoulder. "Ros thinks she's funny." Caolin huffed.

"She's as funny as Commissar Daniloft." He said. Svyr rolled his eyes, squeezing out his vizzy cloth in some filthy brackish water.

"Dick." Ros mumbled under her breath. Yang patted her on the back.

"He_ is_ right though." She replied.

**"**Traitor."

Yang laughed, screwing her barrel into place and locking the power node into place. Good as new. A high-velocity round sream past them, shooting tufts of red hair onto the walls. Ros fell face-forward into the ramparts.

"Ros!" Caolin screamed. Yang echoed him, scrambling to turn her friend over. Svyr was pressed into the stone floor, shock ruling his face. Woadians scrambled into action around him, reaching for their lasguns.

"Ros! C'mon!" Yang shook her friend.

"Can you flip me over?" Ros said in a deadpan. "I think I'm done on this side." Yang snorted with disbelieving laughter. Excluding a messy haircut, Ros was untouched.

"I can't believe it." Caolin breathed, salt wetness crawling down his cheeks. "She made a joke. The lengths you go to prove me wrong." Ros shook her head with a grunt.

"Yeah, yeah. Now keep your head low and find out where that sniper is." Caolin nodded, wiping his eyes before crawling over to his kit a few yards away. Another bullet hissed overhead, its passing spilling heat into the air.

"By the Throne!" Ros hissed. "Since when have they got a sniper?" Yang buckled her helmet on, throwing her friends a smile.

"Well at least they can't shoot for shit!" She said, ramming a power cell home. Her lasgun hummed with glee, polished and running smooth. "It's almost insulting!" The sniper's shooting _was_ odd, however. The second shot had passed well above them, even though every Woadian concealed themselves behind the stonework.

Yang peeked out of a firing slit, scanning the Yǒng-lo lines. They were shifting, but even with markedly superior eyesight, nothing popped out at her. The third shot went flying over her head, and she whipped around, looking for its target. It soared into the bell tower of a distant cathedral, soaked up by the unyielding stone. She turned back to the battlefield, scanning for the source. _Is he even aiming for us?_

Thunder pealed, sharp and distant, but lacked the flash of lightning. Her fingers wrapped around the knurled grip of her lasgun, her tongue rasping over her lips. _What are these bastards gonna try next?_ She looked over at Caolin, who had pulled his scarf up, covering his head from view. The barrel of his long-las was just behind a firing slit, parsing the battlefield.

"Anything?" Ros asked.

"We got movement… yeah, we got foot-mobiles!" He replied, tension stiffening his spine, shoulders taut against his weapon.

"No sniper?" She pressed.

"Nothing. Just… ah, shit." He replied.

"What? What is it?" Ros asked. She hit him on his shoulder. "C'mon, spill, dammit!" Yang peeked out, and sure enough, the line was opening up, revealing a file of heavily armored heretics.

"We got about a thousand troops out there. They've got some serious gear. Up to their tits in armor. Lasguns too." He cursed again. "They got tube-charges! They're gonna blow the gate!" _The metal gate is thick, sure, but how's it gonna stand up to a few braces of tube charges_? She shook her head. She didn't want to find out.

"Fuck!" Ros said. "They movin' up?"

"Jogging speed." Yang said, pressing her weapon into her shoulder. "Let's get to work."

"What about the sniper?" Caolin asked. Ros slipped her bayonet on, the blade snapping into place with a metallic click.

"We'll just have to hope his aim stays shitty. Keep your eye out for him, but start drilling those bastards as soon as they're in range." Caolin nodded, already lining up his first shot. She turned to the other remnants of Gamma platoon. "Asgeg, you and Theni man the stubber until the ammo's gone. Get ready to repel!" They nodded. "Let's get to work boys and girls. Conserve your ammo, and remember: The Emperor protects!"

"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" They echoed, forty fists striking the sky. Caolin's long-las barked, a hot-shot bolt flying into the midst of the approaching Yǒng-lo. Shouts and the clamor of battle rang out as the Woadians settled into firing positions, the walls of Shao-la bustling with soldiery.

Yang fired a burst of lasbolts into the heretics, meeting a wall of think metal blast shields. These were not Ranshan troops, she realized. Instead of piecemeal bits of black armor and green cloth, they were clad in a baroque set of navy blue flak armor, with embroidered silver cloaks fluttering about their shoulders.

"I can't hit them!" Svyr cried. "Those damn shields are soaking everything up!" Yang gnawed on her lip. It was true. Not only that, but they were disciplined, organized. Shock-troops. They marched in step, the front row pressing forward and spreading out to soak up the punishing volume of lasbolts.

The back row returned fire, splashing the walls of Shao-la with crimson light. Yang felt the stone heat and smoke behind her. _Shit, my flak armor!_ She thought, grimacing. _Oh well. There's no time to buckle it on now, and I made do on Remnant._ She turned and fired, grinning as a few beams slipped between the enemy shields.

The war-horns returned, and with them, the Yǒng-lo surged forward in their thousands to support their well-equipped brethren.

"By the Emperor!" Theni shouted. Lightning flashed, flickering light shining of the tide of besiegers. He racked the stubber and opened fire. It tore into the shock troops, metal impacts ringing across the battlefield. Tracers whined and whizzed, scouring the row of shields before dancing off into the mass of warriors. The thunder hit them, crackling and violent. The rain started then, a drizzle of fat droplets pattering off the masonry.

"Who do we shoot?" Asgeg cried, flashes of red shining bright in the whiteness of her eyes.

"Bring those blue bastards down! Pour it on, Gamma!" Ros cried. The bolters opened up, great blasts of noise and brimstone that shredded the shock troops apart. To their credit, they stormed onward, closing the gaps with unerring tenacity. They returned fire, piercing lasbolts scorching the ramparts. Three Woadians fell, screaming as they were cut down.

Silver capes flashing, a cadre of shock troopers stormed forward, long black tubes slung over their shoulder.

"ROCKETS!" Jorvis bellowed from within the gatehouse. Yang flicked her lasgun to full auto, unleashing a barrage of lasbolts onto the rocketeers. One fell, spinning as a red lance buried itself into his shoulder. His rocket launcher went off, sailing into a squad of Yǒng-lo and shredding them apart. Another flash of lightning, and the rain began its assault as well. It lashed against them, guardsmen and heretics alike.

One of Weiss' Valkyries neared, the humming roar of its engines adding to the cacophony. Its bolters blared, scything down shock troops and warriors alike. Death-screams and foul curses filled the battleground, smothered by the deluge of rain. An enemy rocket soared into the walls, blowing a chunk out of the gatehouse. Bits of shrapnel sliced through the air, accompanied by the cries of injured Woadians.

The Valkyrie pivoted and Ira leaped out onto the walls, sword in hand. Two of Weiss' guard accompanied him, faceless and silent.

"Sergeant Jorvis told me there's a situation afoot, Corporal!" He bellowed over the driving rain.

"Damn straight, Sir!" Ros replied, turning her back to add another stream of lasfire. Her lasgun smoked as she popped out its power cell, the rank scent of ozone filling their nostrils. "We got some troops here that aren't from Ranshu!"

Yang let loose once more, taking stock of the situation as she filled the mud-choked enemy with the rest of her ammo. The advance had slowed, but had not stopped. They were still a few hundred yards away, and no sizable dent appeared in their forces.

"Siege machines?" Ira asked.

"Nope, they're coming at us with tube-charges!" Yang said, reloading.

"I got one! Got 'em right in the fucking head!" Caolin yelled, face pressed into the scope of his weapon. "Fuck you, scum!"

"Can you hold them?" Ira said, pulling his hood over his head.

"We can try, Sir!" Ros said. "But they'll probably make it to the gate before their shields give up!" A rocket soared over their heads, smashing into the Valkyrie. One of its engines erupted into a ball of flame, and the pilot fought for control as the craft spun and sank. It soared over the walls, the engine nearly searing the Woadians into a crisp as it passed over. It crashed, slamming into the earth in front of the gate, spitting mud and dirt as it dug itself into the ground. A wail went up across the walls, followed by a ragged cheer from the enemy.

"Omnissaiah protect us!" Ira shouted, scrambling to edge of the ramparts to survey to the damage. A hand went to his ear. "Chung, do you read me?" Yang's microbead crackled from its place on her collar.

"Loud and clear, Lord." The voice of Serviceman Chung said, bitter and full of pain. He coughed. "That really hurt."

"Stay put Chung; we're coming to get you." Ira said, his mechanical voice now calm and level.

"With all due respect, Lord, have your circuits misfired? I'm a dead man." Chung said. "I gotta laspistol. They won't-" another cough, "they won't take me alive." To Yang's surprise, Ira chuckled.

"You always had an ego too big for your voider's boots." He said, unhooking a long spool of wire from his hip. "Nice try, but we need that Valkyrie of yours, and I have to greet the enemy for Our Lady. Lieutenant Varo! Get your boys ready for a scrap. OPEN THE GATES!"

"Are you sure my Lord?" Varo answered, his voice bearing the nasal whine of an Elodian accent.

"Absolutely, Lieutenant. Now fall in line!" Ira replied. Varo's grumbling filled the comm line.

"Hard copy. All tanks, get on my ass! Lock and load!" Yang grabbed her power sword.

"I'm coming with you." She said, slinging her lasgun over her shoulder. Those shock troops needed to die, and she was the best one for the job. The gates of Shao-la opened, and the rumble of tanks roared in the driving rain. Ira hurled the coil of wire over the ramparts, gesturing to Weiss' guard.

"Acknowledged. Corporal! Take as much firepower you have and do your Emperor-given duty. Get the Ranshan bowmen up here as well." Ros saluted, eyes passing over Yang.

"Yes, Sir! Yang-"

"I'll be careful." Yang said, cutting her off. "Flak plates just slowed me down anyway." The Elodian armor opened fire, great peals of cannon-fire that crippled the encroaching heretics. The clatter of bolter-fire filled the air, adding to the sheer, unrepentant squall of ear-shattering noise. Yang smiled, a grin wide enough to touch her ears. The battlefield was singing to her, and she couldn't deny it any more: this is where she belonged. It was the ultimate expression of her duties as a huntress, to protect the people and kick some ass at the same time. _Maybe… maybe I _do_ belong here._

"Let's go, Trooper Yang!" Ira said, throwing himself over the battlements. Yang joined him, rappelling down the thin metal wire. Her aura kept her hands from burning as they rocketed down the cord. Lasbolts smacked in the wall next to her, the pungent knife-scent of steaming rock filling her nostrils.

Her boots touched the carpet of rotting corpses, and she sprinted off to join Ira. The kasrkin fired as they ran, hosing the shock troopers with crimson beams of light. Answering las-fire flew past them, boiling the squalling rain away as it struck the wall behind them.

Ira stopped before the _Faith-Hammer_, gesturing at the tank with his power sword. "Hook up what you can, and drag him back! Post-haste, Sergeant!" The tank's commander saluted, closing a hatch behind him. His crew scrambled out, pulling at a thick cable.

A lasbolt struck near Yang's feet, spraying her with boiling mud. Her aura kept it from scalding her, and she dove into cover behind the fallen Valkyrie. Down here, the approaching enemies were far more intimidating, forming an impenetrable wall of greens, blues and flashing silver capes.

Ira dove behind the _Faith-Hammer_ as a rocket sailed past, slamming into the walls of Shao-la. The armored fist of the Lady Inquisitor returned fire, and the noise deafened the world around her. Lightning filled the sky, almost invisible behind the thick sheets of rain.

Ira was gesturing. 'Get Chung' he seemed to be saying. Yang nodded, crouch-running under the storm of las-fire to reach the cockpit. With a roar she could barely hear, she smashed the glass open with the butt of her lasgun.

"Yang?" Chung mumbled, blood pouring from his nose.

"Bet you wish you had that sword right now!" She screamed over her deafness. He looked at her in disbelief. She hauled him out, and a lasbolt struck her in the back. "GAH!" She weathered the flash of pain as her aura saved her life. Her semblance growled within her, begging to be unleashed.

"You better be grateful you little bastard!" She yelled, sticking him on his feet. "Go!" She said, pointing at the _Faith-Hammer_. Giving him a hearty slap on the ass, she sent him limping off towards Ira. She turned to face the advancing enemy. _Oh fuck. Too close._

The _Ruin of Heresy_ was suffering the brunt of the enemy rockets, each one slamming into the Leman Russ and erupting into a geyser of flame. One slipped under its turret ring, and it burst into a roiling inferno. Its crew spilled out, fire consuming their flesh. The lucky ones were cut down by las-fire, while the others slumped over, collapsing into the mud as their skin sloughed away.

"Bastards!" Yang roared, firing into the thick metal shields. They were on top of her now. Even as the Valkyrie began its return to gate, it wasn't moving fast enough. She ripped her power sword free, thumbing the activation rune. _Now for the fun part_. Ira stormed forward to join her. He'd removed his robes, and bore his bare chest to the world. His hands split and deformed, bending at unnatural angles as they reached for his sword.

"What's the plan?" She bellowed.

"Buy some time!" He replied. As his own sword ignited, his arm split apart at the joints and began to spin. The blade whirred faster in faster in his augmentic hand until it was a blue circle of humming death. Yang ran with him, charging the shock-troopers and screaming a wordless battle cry. Weiss' guardsmen stayed behind, using their hellguns to puncture charred holes in the enemy's shields.

Ira cut into them with aplomb. Severed limbs spun and flew into the air, and a blizzard of gore sprayed the troops, churned into a storming frenzy by Ira's unrelenting advance. Yang joined him, throwing all her might into a powerful stroke of her sword. It cut through the thick blast-shields with ease, slicing the navy blue armor and sending his torso spiraling into the air. The shock troops swarmed around them, undeterred by the flashing swords.

Yang hacked them apart, one by one. Arrows fell among them, rattling of shields and flak-armor. One buried itself into a gap in a heretic's armor, and he fell screaming. The Ranshan bows had arrived. Las-fire helped as well, falling like the rain: just as hard and just as plentiful. A bayonet slipped off her chest, fueling her with a surge of power. Yang roared, throwing her arm around in a wide swing. It caught three of the enemy in its vicious arc, cleaving them in two.

Ira danced around his foes, his arm invisible with speed. Blood sprayed from the spinning sword, coating the crowd with thick splashes of red. The _Sweet Sonjja_ fired, its twin-linked lascannons carving a wide gap into the flagging shock-troopers. _Our Lady's Fist_'s cannon roared , rending a gaping hole into the Yǒng-lo lines.

"Back! We're almost there!" Ira cried. The walls of Shao-la loomed behind him. He ducked from Yang's view for a second, and for a moment, she was worried he'd been felled somehow. He reappeared in an instant, a body slung around his shoulders.

Channeling her aura into her arms, Yang slammed into a pack of heretics, her power sword hissing as it boiled their blood away. Their spotless armor and shields did them no favors against the merciless onslaught. Their numbers were dwindling now, and their advance had stalled completely.

Their shields were useless against the enfilade provided by the walls of Shao-la, and they died in droves. With a shouted order, they pulled back, bracing their shields against the torrential storm of lasbolts.

As the walls of Shao-la swallowed the Valkyrie, Yang and Ira dove into the city as the gates slammed shut behind them.

She was panting, but wore a toothy grin. They'd done it. At the cost of a Leman Russ, they'd done it. One of Weiss' guards cried out in pain, clutching at a black hole in his carapace armor. It was a glancing blow, and with some prompt attention, he'd survive. Ira was coated in blood, gallons of crimson ichor dripping off his metallic limbs and running down the skin of his chest. He threw the body he'd been carrying to the floor. It was one of the enemy.

"Go find a medic." He told the wounded guard. "I'll finish up here." The man nodded, slinging his arm around his comrade.

The shock trooper's arm had been severed by Ira's spinning sword, but the heretic still sent a cold chill running down Yang's spine. He bore no tattoos, no piercings, no brands, no gouged flesh or egregious mutations. He was clean-shaven, with a full set of shining teeth. _He looks so much like a normal person_… Yang thought, deactivating her power sword. For some reason, that terrified her more than any servant of Chaos had before. Blood ran from his split lip, and he groaned in pain.

"Ira!" Lieutanant Varo shouted over the driving rain. Soot covered his face, and his tanker's helmet sat askew. His fist was balled in Chung's collar, dragging him along behind him. The pilot squealed in agony, clenching his leg. "You fucking Mechanicum spook!" He snarled, throwing Chung onto the muddy street. "I lost a tank and five of my men over this sack of shit!" He kicked the Servicemen in his ribs. "You better have a good excuse for this, or by the Golden fucking Throne, I'll have Our Lady put your head on a fucking _pike_!" Yang stepped forward, but Ira shook his head, slow and steady. He donned his cloak, slipping his arms through the luxuriant red sleeves.

"Please restrain yourself Lieutenant. Land another blow, and you will not live to see Our Lady again." Ira said. Varo's boot flew back, ready to bury itself in Chung's side. In a flash, Ira's power sword was inches from the tanker's neck. All around them, bolters racked and lasguns whined as the Elodians readied to defend their leader.

"I apologize for deceiving you Lieutenant. I needed your tanks to accomplish a few critically important objectives. Objectives that were neither the recovery of Serviceman Chung nor Our Lady's aircraft." Ira said, his voice level and unconcerned. "Your support was necessary for the repulsion of the Silverhearts and the recovery of this reprobate." He said, toeing the heretic shock trooper.

"And why is he so important?" Varo asked, eyes narrowing.

"He is part of Josephus' personal task force." He knelt, tearing the silvery-white cloak from its place. He pointed at an embroidered raven, threaded in black. It was surrounded by the eight-pointed star of chaos, its eyes cruel and narrow. "The bastard's seal itself." Ira continued. "Our Lady asked I bring her a subject for interrogation." Varo snarled, his eyes red and inflamed.

"That's it? That's what Bolivar died for? Emperor. Fine then." An Elodian approached him, the rain washing away the black grease on her arms. She whispered a few words to him, and he nodded. He returned to his men, not sparing a second look at Chung.

Sighing, Yang returned him to his feet, and he muttered his thanks, wincing in pain as he did so. She looked over the heretic again. His eyes were fluttering open, as blue as the armor he wore. The cauterized stump of his arm writhed in the mud-puddle forming around him.

"Thank you for your help, Trooper Yang." Ira said, stooping to collect the enemy soldier. "Our Lady did not lie: you are an accomplished fighter."

"She was lying." Yang said, wearing a small smile. "I'm a fucking _great_ one. You're pretty good yourself. Even if you cheat a little." He chuckled mechanical chuckle, his augmentic eyes refocusing.

"It is effective though, no?"

"I'd say," she replied. He nodded his thanks, once more pulling his hood over his head.

"Our Lady requires me. I'll be off." Ira said. She waved her goodbye, sheathing her power sword. She unshouldered her lasgun, ignoring the gaping crowd that had gathered to watch the proceedings. Once more, the barrel was charred from use, and the power cell was running on fumes.

_Looks like I need to clean it again._

* * *

The world is death, the world is the end of all things. The boots of the arch foe soak into its bloodied soil, laughing, cheering, reveling in their vileness. Their frivolity is cut short, and they die in droves, herded like lemmings into crossfires, crushed between the weight of battalions. Screams are all the world knows, and madness reigns supreme. She's choking on the fumes. Cordite. Ozone. There's no clean air, no light, no respite from the death.

Corpses are better than sandbags. There's more of them.

stack them high and prepare to repel she bellows, the noise a tremendous echo swallowed by the sheer scale of the battle. There's too many, there's always too many. Again! Again!

There is no honor, no corner given. To offer such things to the foe is a laughable notion. Every resource she has, she puts to its best use. An enormous funnel into which she pours men's lives, and it spits out meat. War, in its fullest, most awesome form.

The world is fire, the world is blood, the world is Red like Roses.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor snorted awake, her face tearing away the tissue-thin page of an ancient ledger it was pressed against. She cursed inwardly. How dare she sleep? There was no time, no time for such frivolities.

"How long have I slept?" She demanded, whirling around to find Darron sharpening his knife.

"Five minutes, My Lady. No more, no less." Five minutes. She let loose a sigh of relief. Her fingers dug at the bridge of her nose, her head set in a brutal, pounding ache. How long ago did she send Ira out? The dream gnawed at her perception, demanding to be remembered and consume her thoughts. _So many soldiers... _

Looking over a stack of tomes, she found a worn copy of Lord Solar Macharius' _On the Machinations of War_. She scooped it up and stuffed it into the recesses of her duster.

* * *

**A/N: Holy shit, I just now realized Ira is doing General Grievous' routine. Whoops! :P Oh well, I enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it!**

**As always, anything you have to say is greatly appreciated. Every review you give just makes my day that much better. :3**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: LOL. I hope this chapter was sufficiently crazy! :D**

**The Pyromaniac: Thanks so much man!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I'm glad you're enjoying the kasrkin. While this is Yang's story, I think it's important to make the world she lives in feel real, and that starts with the characters that inhabit it feel real!**

**Enuncia: Sorry! Maion and the Tou'Her will be back, in good time...**

**OBSERVER01: Now that would be a shit-storm of epic proportions!**

**Dom380: I hope this satisfied!**

**Nemris: Hahahaha I guess we'll see!**

**Gafgar: I'm not sure if Yang can throw a party big enough to spawn a new chaos god, but damn it, I think she'd give it her best shot! XD**

**Galm: Thanks, dude!**

**Northernmegas: Huh. Interesting theory! I guess we'll see what happens!**

**RED Roman Pyro: I'm glad you enjoyed the breather!**

**Mintskittle: He can still make noises, but since most of his tongue is cut out, it's nearly impossible to form words beyond "ahh's" "ooh's" and "uh's" And damn, now that's a WMG! Only time will tell if it's correct!**

**dksamuri: Thanks!**

* * *

**By the Emperor, you guys are the best! Tune in next time for more crazy shit! :D**


	25. Mind Splitter

**A/N: Sorry for the short delay! Oh, and a kick-ass guy named Philip Moyer made some badass fanart for the fic! Go check it out!**

** Chapter 24, ENGAGE! :D**

* * *

**Book 2: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 24: Mind Splitter**

"_The mind of a psyker is labyrinthine, laden with traps, deceptions, and dead ends. It is a dark and horrid place, where only death and the warp await." – Commissar Ingrid Hauptmann_

Ira's arrival was devoid of subtlety. The shocked gasps of the Archive Keepers reached above the din of the automated servitors and cherubim, pulling the Lady Inquisitor's attention away from her readings.

Her acolyte was soaked in gore, each footfall slow and ponderous, each step shaking blood from his augmentic limbs, spattering droplets on the stone floor of Totha's Archives. Across his back hung his prize: one of Josephus' Silverheart Guard. Amat had sighted them sulking around the enemy camp, waiting for word to advance. They were his prized soldiers, assault troopers that directed their master's unruly rabbles. Viciously trained and disciplined to a fault, they were his most effective troops. Where he obtained the means to equip and train them, she could not say. What mattered now was that they were not Ranshan.

With a grunt, Ira heaved the captive before him, where he skidded and rolled across the floor. As one, her kasrkin stood. Her glyphs were visible on each muscled soldier, each one bearing the stock of a raised hellgun.

Ira had bound the heretic in metal wire, which cut and dug into his wrists. Only a tunic and grey-blue fatigues kept him decent.

"M-my Lady," the senior Archive Keeper prattled, "You cannot profane the Sacred Archives with-" She rounded on him, psychic will inflating her presence well beyond mortal limits. When she spoke her voice steamed, vapor in the snap-frozen air.

"I will have silence." She said. The man fell to his knees, shivering in his thin and folded robe. "You will not presume to order me about, not when I am endeavoring to protect everything you hold dear." The man shook and quailed, staring at her with such fear, it gave her pause. _I am over-doing it._ _You can't snap like this. You are not a rabid dog, and exhaustion is no excuse._ She released her hold on the warp, and the man sucked in a breath, his hands kissing the frozen stone at her feet. "Do not question me again. Begone." The man's underlings recovered him, carrying him away from her presence.

"Neat trick." A new voice said. She turned to face the speaker. The Silverheart. His face was utterly devoid of emotion or expression, the picture of blankness. Foul tattoos ran up the sides of his arms, but his face remained untouched. His insolence earned him a sharp kick in his ribs. She felt the bones break under her armored toe. "Ow. What the fuck. Ow. Fucking bitch." The man said, trying to clutch at his shattered chest. His face remained placid and uncaring. Wasting no time, she ripped open his mind, uncovering a forest of cold stone. She backed out, surprised at her findings.

"My Lady?" Chera asked, her violet eyes full of concern.

"He has had a rubric cast upon him." She replied, parsing the heretic once more. Such spells were not given lightly, which meant the caster's secrets were precious.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ow." The heretic said. _Time to test a theory._

"Break his finger, Ira." Ira obeyed, crushing the man's index finger in the palm of an augmentic hand. The Silverheart screamed a long, dull note.

"Ahhhhhhhh." He cried, again and again. The Lady Inquisitor's brow furrowed. _He can still feel pain, but he's unable to emote. His personality remains intact, but his mind has been wiped_. Her fingers swallowed his face once more, and she returned to his mind.

The seal was a powerful one. She had only encountered a few spells like these in her investigations, and they required a significant time investment to crack. Time she did not posses.

Only the memories since his arrival at Ranshu remained accessible, and even those were hazy to her. She'd have to make do. The barbarous way.

"What are the Silverhearts after on Ranshu?" She asked, stooping down to face the writhing man.

"Can't tell you. Won't. Ha. Ha. Ow." Smiling, she smashed his nose in with a flick of her finger. He gave a toneless cry, and the pictures in his mind sharpened, pushed between the stone trees that infested his mindscape. "You bitch. Ow."

They were here to direct the local forces.

"Who commands you?" She demanded, her mind probing at the fragments of memory, reaching, grasping.

"Go fuck your corpse-god." He said. _Loyal to the last, I'll give him that._

"Your autopistol, Darron." With a spin, he unholstered the weapon and handed it to her grip first. She took it, nodding in thanks. "I'll ask again," she continued, "who is your commander?"

"Go fuck your corpse-god." He repeated. The autopistol barked, echoing down the archive's countless rows of knowledge. The servitors continued their work, unperturbed by the blaring report. The bullet pierced his navy blue kneepad, shattering his kneecap into fragments and burying itself in the stone floor. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhhhh." His head thrashed against the floor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head from the shock.

"Who is your commander?" She demanded. The thought raced across his mind before the grey haze of the rubric sealed it away. But it did not escape her. The name itself was meaningless, but it opened a few more pathways of interrogation. "Darron, keep him awake." He nodded, unfurling his medical equipment. "Ira, what do you think?" This was a valuable learning experience. Too often, she relied on her telepathy, and it could become a crutch if she was not careful.

"He won't speak, that much is plain." Ira said. "As you said, the rubric itself might seal his tongue and mind away from us." The Lady Inquisitor watched Darron work, scratching her chin. "Although it is curious why they sealed away his capability to emote, but not his sense of pain or personality." He chuckled to himself. "Expect unpredictability, I suppose."

"Quite." She replied with a smile. "Good analysis. I don't think we'll be getting too much from him, but it was a worthwhile attempt." _There are still a few lines of inquiry to pursue, but the heretic is nearing his limit._ She knelt to face his writhing form. "What does the name Jorak mean to you?" A glimmer she'd picked up, someone directly under his commander.

"Fuck you." She crushed his remaining arm, repeating the question. A sniper, given one specific task. It was completed successfully. Beyond that, it was impossible to tell, for his mind fell blank once more. His body was truly broken at this point, a weeping mess of compound fractures and twisted limbs. Her kasrkin, accustomed to the atrocities of chaos, felt nothing but hatred for the man below them. The remaining Archive Keepers threw up. _Too long squirreled away down here_, the Lady Inquisitor mused. _Soft, spoiled men_.

She spent the next five minutes grasping at other straws, but his mind had yielded all its secrets, and his body could no longer sustain the damage. He died, and his face remained unchanged as his broken form succumbed to pain and blood loss. The Lady Inquisitor snapped her fingers, and warp-frost ate at his corpse, encrusting it in ice.

"I suggest you dispose of him now, while it's easy." She said, nodding at the Archive Keepers. They obeyed, performing the sign of the Aquila before picking up the frozen body. Ira was right. The rubric was odd. Why wipe his memories, but leave it vulnerable to pain? That she could uncover anything at all was suspicious. She supposed he needed a baseline of names, squad mate's proficiencies, training to remain an effective soldier. _But are they constructed memories? _She growled in frustration. It felt like Josephus was feeding her information. It made her sick. Jala Prime had been a trap, and she could not afford to be outplayed again. She sighed.

"Ira, your report?" He stepped forward, nodding.

"At once. As requested, I brought you the Silverheart. However, the circumstances were unusual." He said. Her eyebrow rose. "The Valkyrie piloted by Serviceman Chung suffered critical damage, and fell to ground before the gates of Shao-la." The Lady Inquisitor considered this.

"What is his current state?"

"He is injured. It is possible his leg is broken, but since you prioritized the recovery of a Silverheart, I expedited my return here." He said. _That's certainly true...he didn't even take time to cleanse himself_, she noted.

"The Valkyrie?"

"Salvageable. With some supplies from the _Scythe of Morning_, the Techpriests will get it running in a few days." The unspoken: If we survive that long.

"And how goes the siege?" Ira smiled, tucking his sword away into his mechadendrites.

"As well is it can. The Woadians have repulsed every assault, each time inflicting massive casualties upon the heretics. Within the walls, I've ferreted out a few saboteurs. I handed them over the the Seneschal, who was all too happy to deal with them."

"Good." Seneschal Lao Shuryan was a capable man, and obeyed her without question. No doubt he knew the proper course of action to take regarding captives.

"However, many of the defenders have suffered casualties as well, and there appears to be a sickness spreading among the injured." The Lady Inquisitor frowned.

"Is it born of the arch-foe?"

"It's impossible to tell. I say we err on the side of caution," he said. She nodded. As always, she carried a few tinctures and remedies for those inflicted with plagues from beyond the warp, but such medicines were far from plentiful.

"Save who we can and quarantine the rest. Burn the dead. Anything else to report?"

"Lieutanant Varo was insubordinate. The _Ruin of Heresy_ was destroyed while accomplishing the primary objective. He resented my involvement." The Lady Inquisitor retrieved her wine from her duster, working the top off without effort.

"You employed the tanks?"

"It was necessary. They were required to haul the Valkyrie back, and they also managed to defeat a considerable number of enemy soldiers." He explained. She met his gaze, and found no dishonesty in his metallic mind. He had acted to the best of his ability in order to perform his task. She thanked the Emperor for sending her Ira. A hatred for incompetence burned in her heart, and there was none to be found in her Acolyte. Dealing with inferior subordinates would only compound the painful pitched battle that thrummed within her skull.

"I shall have words with him then, in due time. I have more pressing matters to attend to." She said, taking a swig of wine.

"There is also the matter of Trooper Yang..." Despite herself, the Lady Inquisitor chuckled. Her former teammate never failed to stir up trouble.

"Oh?"

"She leapt into the fray, just as you said she would." He said, wearing a small grin. "She is a tenacious fighter. The natives were quite impressed when we sallied forth." That brought a genuine smile to her face.

"I thank you for your service, Ira." She said. He nodded, about to return to his command before a thought stopped him.

"Amat would also like to report that he killed the Silverheart sharpshooter." His words sent piqued her interest. The sniper, a heretic named Jorak, who completed an unknown mission. But what the mission consisted of was still a mystery, although several theories presented themselves.

"Tell him I said thank you."

"I shall do so." He left, bloodied red cloak swishing behind his fleet footsteps. The Lady Inquisitor closed the tome she'd been poring over with a dusty _thud_. The Archives had been an insight to Josephus' actions. His movements across the Segmentum Obscurus appeared random and chaotic, scattered by the eddies of the warp, but such an observation would be patently false. Once she factored his historical engagements and seditions, a clear pattern emerged: he was searching for something. However, the veritable tsunami of text spoke nothing of Ranshu itself, nor the Archives it contained. It was time explore outside the realm of ink and parchment.

Buckling her powersword to her armor, she gestured to Darron. The Captain strolled over to her, scooping up his hellgun. "Captain?"

"Yes, my Lady?"

"Send a few more of your men with Ira. I need six of you to accompany to me out of the Archives." He nodded, quick, flickering hand movements sending his subordinates to their tasks.

"Are we leaving?" Chera asked, fingers drumming against her weapon.

"Not yet. But I think I have a lead." The Cadian woman grinned.

"Captain, Lieutenant, Malik, Rodric, Astrid, come. We must speak with the King. It's possible he can help us." Unbidden, the image of Ruby returned, bringing a smile to the Lady Inquisitor. It was unnatural how much the two resembled each other.

* * *

After recovering Chung, Yang sprinted back to her post, finding nothing but panting Woadians and a clear battleground. The shock troopers had fled, and their failure sent the Yǒng-lo scattering. However, Gamma platoon and the other members of First Company were exhausted. Their ammunition was spent, and many sat with hollow stares, coated with soot and reeking of ozone. So much killing in such a short amount of time had worn them down into shambling parodies of soldiers.

"Hey guys," Yang said, throwing them a wave.

"Nice moves out there," Caolin said, trying to grin around his lho-stick. "I'd have more critiques for you, but I was too busy killing half the bastards myself." Yang laughed, slapping the back of his flak armor. Ros rolled her eyes.

"Did you see Lord Ira though?" She said, jerking her thumb at the piles of severed limbs that decorated the grounds outside Shao-la. "He could hold these walls by himself." She shivered.

"Ain't natural," Caolin agreed. "Damn effective though." He made the sign of the Aquila.

"Damn shame about the armor too." Asgeg said from her firing slit. "Though it was pretty awesome watching the Yǒng-lo eat it." Yang nodded, chuckling. _Chung better be damned thankful._ That flier, its pilot and the captive shock trooper cost them a Leman Russ. A steep price to pay. She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with bloodied knuckles.

Keeping her aura activated all the time was exhausting. Death was everywhere on this planet, and the constant danger eroded its protective edge, a constant gnawing sensation that kept her on constant alert. A lack of proper sleep worsened the problem.

The deluge of rain continued, and there was little cover from its onslaught. Ros shook, rubbing her arms in a desperate attempt to warm them. Yang gave her a spare tunic, which she'd kept tucked away in her guardsman's pack.

"You sure?" Ros asked. Yang shrugged, smiling.

"I run hot," she said. "I'll be fine." Her friend was too tired to argue, and slipped the dry tunic on. "Any sign of that sniper?"

Caolin shook his head. "Ain't seen anything outta him. We're keeping our heads down anyway."

Jorvis left the gatehouse, clenching his coat tight in the vain hope that it'd keep him dry. His artificial eye raked over Gamma platoon, and an unlit cigar hung from his scarred lips.

"Just got word on the vox." He boomed over the driving rain. "The Captain's got orders for us, and he'll be along shortly." Straightening, his hands went to his hips. "Stay in cover, but for the Emperor's sake, try to look presentable." They gave him a mumbled 'yes Sergeant', and for once, he didn't seem to care. Yang scrubbed her hands together, using the rain to wash away the latest splashes of blood.

Captain Lyrasson arrived on the elevator a few minutes later, command squad in tow. His warpaint was fresh and untouched. He was about half of Jorvis' age, if not younger. The Company Commissar accompanied him, wearing the patented 'Commissar Scowl'.

"Stay down, sir." Jorvis said. "There's rumors of an enemy sniper." Nodding, the Captain hunched over, crawling on his hands and knees to address First Company.

"The Colonel's in a strategy meeting for the next few hours, so the Major's been given command of the walls. Until Colonel von Israfel gets back, we're rotating positions. We're headed over there." He said, pointing at the eastern walls. "Third Company will hold the gatehouse. You've done an exceptional job of holding it so far, and I'm damn proud of you." This earned a few smiles, tired though they were. "But you guys need some rest. The flanking walls haven't been hit as hard, so we'll get some sleep over there, huh?"

"And if the Colonel comes back?" Jorvis asked, his voice a low rumble. "With all due respect sir, he won't like his orders being fucked with." Captain Lyrasson shook his head.

"Major Hraksson gave the call. If the Colonel keeps us here, we'll get ground up into grox-food before too long." He said, putting on a fake chuckle. He slapped Caolin's pauldron. "Right, son?"

"Right, sir." Caolin managed, swallowing.

"By the Emperor, of course I'm right! I'm your commanding officer!" Lyrasson said with a wry grin. The Company Commissar's frown deepened, his fingers working at the grip of his bolt pistol. Yang watched him with care.

"Captain," he began, eyes shifting over to Gamma platoon, "You'd-" Lyrasson waved him off, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Commissar Eberil, please." The political officer rankled under his cape, irked by the Captain's flippancy. "Like I said, it's the Major's orders." He turned to the Sarge. "You and your boys ready to move?" He asked Jorvis.

"We are, sir," Jorvis said, readjusting his officer's beret. "Just give the word." Yang scooped up her gear, slinging her pack on her shoulders_. I'm sure Third Company is more than capable of holding the gatehouse…. but I'd feel better if I stayed here._ She thought, frowning.

The walls of Shao-la bustled with activity as First Company prepared to leave. Yang watched her comrades hustle about, enjoying the rain as it ran down her skin and soaked her hair. The transition from Huntress to Guardsmen was an odd one, now that she thought about it. Hunters were Remnant's heroes, teams of highly-trained and specialized killers. They went where they must, beholden to nobody and nothing but their own initiative. But a guardsman's life was not his own. Far from it, really. A few words from one man, and a thousand soldiers leaped into action. Lyrasson could have said, 'march out and kill all the heretics', and they would have gone. _Well, I would have… dissuaded him,_ Yang thought, cracking her knuckles. But she was a part of it too, the billions-strong war-machine that was the Imperial Guard. She saluted now, did what she was told. It sucked (and she'd come close to telling Jorvis to fuck off _more_ than a few times), but it was easier just to go along with it all. The price she paid for the ability to traverse the stars. A small smile and a bitter laugh escaped her. _Weiss is the one who's got it made_. _I should ask her about being an Inquisitor!_

"What's so funny, Yang?" Ros asked, shouldering her own pack.

"I'm thinking I should be an Inquisitor," she replied with a wink, earning her a chuckle.

"Alright First Company," Lyrasson boomed over the rain, "let's get a move on. Report to spire six in the eastern section of the walls in ten minutes! Let's go, go go!"

"AYE!" They bellowed in response. They obeyed, a thousand boots pattering against the stone walls.

"An Inquisitor? Really?" Ros asked, hustling into a small jog.

"I'd get my own ship," Yang replied with a grin. "And with a shiny little 'I', I could get whatever I wanted." _And the freedom to explore the stars_. Caolin gave a low whistle, keeping his hand on the strap of his long-las as they marched. "Tell you what, first thing I'd do is confiscate some real food. If I have to eat another protein gel, I think I'm gonna hurl."

"It does sounds pretty nice." Caolin said. "Although you'd probably just get stuck doing this shit for the rest of your life." He said, nodding at the heretic camp. "Least I'd get to wear more than flak armor."

"It stopped a few arrows." Asgeg cut in with a wide grin.

"If that's the best it can do, I'm surprised you're even defending it," he said. "And even then, it doesn't protect you all around." They fell silent, remembering their fallen comrades who'd been pierced by the primitive weapons.

Quiet possessed them. Fatigue sat on their shoulders, heavier than all their equipment combined, but Yang could tell they were glad to get a rest. She didn't know what business the Colonel had placing them in the crucible of this whole fiasco, but she was glad the Major had the good sense to give them a rest. A few more battles, and she wasn't sure she could perform at 100%... if she wasn't already lagging.

It took them ten minutes of shouldering through other marching Woadians and careful treading on slick stone walls, but they reached their destination. Shao-la seemed more peaceful from the side, without the constant drone of drilling and preparations that sat underneath the gatehouse. The Yǒng-lo camps were thinner on this side too, and didn't stretch so far out into the sea of mud. The bodies were still here though, strewn around the battlefield and piled at the bottom of the walls.

The Ranshan soldiers were more numerous here, clad in black armor and tattered scale cloaks. Their yellow eyes appraised Yang as she approached, and they whispered among themselves, leaning on long, angular bows as they spoke.

She gave them a wave, and they nodded before returning to their posts. _Weird_.

"Get settled, Gamma!" Jorvis cried, pointing to the ramparts. There was no gatehouse now, no shelter to shield a single member of First Company from the downpour. "Set watches, and try to get some rest! Captain's orders."

"Get some rest," Svyr grumbled, "as if we can in this misery."

"Well then, thanks for volunteering for the first watch." Yang said, giving him a grin. She sat against the rain-slicked ramparts, nestling herself between a few firing slits. It was a tight fit, but she made do.

"You don't mind if I take a nap, do you?" She asked. Ros shook her head before letting out a long yawn.

"Not at all. I think I'll join you. Caolin, why don't you and Svyr take the first watch?" Ros said, pointing at the heretic camps. "Give us a shout if you see anything."

"You're just giving me the bitch-work because I said your sense of humor sucks." Caolin said, leaning against the battlements.

"Okay then, try this: jump off the walls." She said, slapping the back of his helmet.

"That's-"

"Yeah, it was a joke. Now get on it." Ros said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"For what it's worth, I'm still with you Caolin." Yang said.

"You wanna stay on watch with him?" Ros threatened. But she was too late. Yang let her aura loose, and exhaustion hit her with the brute force of a boarbatusk. The light of her soul ebbed away, and she was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Patch was dying, buried under the weight of snow. Yang shivered, naked feet sinking into the snow drifts that swallowed her whole. The blizzard was angry, furious even. It sent cold sinking into her heart, a hate that was as full of fear as it was

She opened her mouth to scream, and shards of ice shredded her cheeks and tore into her throat. Something was wrong.

where am i going

Yang didn't know, couldn't know. Ice crawled through her veins, and her skin cracked and split and fell into the wind.

She fell to her knees, cowering under the voice that boomed across her ruined homeland.

WHERE IS SHE? _WHERE?_ _**WHERE?**_

The question consumed her like the cold, a thrumming, slicing ache. The white faded for a moment, revealing a figure in black. A woman that was Red like Roses.

ruby

Yang bellowed, shattered stump arms dragging her along.

ruby please im right here

Ruby didn't answer her. She was playing with Little-Yang, happy and ignorant of the frigid hate that whorled around them.

ruby

Yang cried, tears freezing to her cheeks. The two turned to face her, smiling as they froze in place. It was wrong, all wrong. It hurt. It hurt so fucking _bad_. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, she tried to stand, and found a horror staring back at her.

* * *

Pain. A rail-spike that thundered against her skull, desperate to smash her head open. Yang's eyes opened, weighed down by pain and grogginess. Her head was pounding, and something was poking her foot. She rubbed her eyes. _Another nightmare_, she thought, shivering.

"Quit it Ros, I'm up." She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. Dusk had come during her nap, and Shao-la was bathed in the purple glow of twilight. Exhaustion no longer ate at the edges of her perception, but it had been replaced by a blinding, nauseating headache. "Fuck that hurts." She spat. As her hands fell away from her face, she saw that it was not Ros poking her foot, but Sergeant Jovis.

"Sergeant?" She asked, puzzled.

"Trooper Yang. Now that you've joined us, would you kindly explain what the fuck is going on with your tats?" Yang whipped around to examine her glyphs. They were bathing her squad in a golden glow, each pair of eyes regarding her with mixed awe and fear. And they _burned_. It was like someone pressed a brand into her shoulder, searing her skin away under the press of red iron. Not good. Not good at _all_.

"Yang?" Ros asked, face full of pleading.

"Is this something the Commissar should know about?" Jorvis asked, resting his chainsword on his shoulder.

"Don't look at me, it's one of Wei-" Yang started before catching herself. She took a deep breath. "It's one of the Lady Inquisitor's spells or something. It's a…" She stopped, pain rippling through her mind, trying to tear her temples apart. Her hands kneaded her long blonde hair, yanking and pulling as she screamed. A great cry went up along the walls of Shao-la, letting her know she was not alone in her agony. It was a cry of hatred. A cry of revulsion and despair.

Yang stood, panting as she leaned against the ramparts. As the sun faded behind the heretic camp, only one thing penetrated her pain-fogged mind.

"Where are the bodies?!" She demanded, binding her fist in Jorvis' coat. "WHERE ARE THE BODIES?" Then, for the first time, fear filled his singular eye, etching itself in the lines of his weathered face.

"DAEMON," someone cried. "**DAAEEEEMMOOOONNN!**"

* * *

**A/N: inb4 "how do guardsmen know what daemons are? Well, now that they're part of the Inquisition, it'd be safe to assume they had a crash course in nasty beasties that they might come across.**

**Also, you guys are gonna shit your pants next chapter. Can't wait to see your reactions! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**reality deviant: Agreed! :D**

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**The Walrus of Eden: Glad you're still with me! Always happy to hear from you each chapter!**

**OBSERVER01: Best character? Best character.**

**Nemris: Thanks! Glad you're enjoying yourself!**

**Magisking: Theories, theories abound.**

**Galm: Oh, it's only a matter of time...**

**Mintskittle: HOLY SHIT SO AWESOME! Seriously though, I love this! :D Thanks so much, man!**

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**HampsterPig: Yay, more new readers! So glad you're noticing the balance I struck. Oh, and LcB wants words! ;)**

**coalface: Ork = hilarious, Khorne = terrifying!**

* * *

**Keep the reviews coming! I love to hear 'em! :D**


	26. Paint it Black

**Book 2: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 25: Paint it Black**

_"White is cold and always yearning, riven by a long lost grief." - The Red Woman_

Panic seized ahold of the defenders as the cry went up. Returning to his command post behind the gates of Shao-la, Ira was swept up in the throes of despair. He could feel it too, the mind-rending pain that set his teeth on edge and swallowed up his runtimes in a deluge of sickening wrongness. On the wall above him, Third Company was fleeing. The conscious ones, at least. Some black-armored forms spilled over the ramparts, screaming as they hurtled down from their posts to burst apart on the street below.

The locals fared no better, their hymns no longer of use or comfort. A daemon stood outside of Shao-la, and Ira could feel its coming.

Every step it took shook his augmentics in their place, and sent rivulets of blood leaking from the sockets of his eyes. His lady's glyphs on his chest burnt as they never did before. Were the pain receptors under his skin not dulled, he was sure he would be in hysterics, slapping at imaginary flames and tearing away his robes.

The kasrkin fared worse, as a few had fallen to their knees from the sheer agony. Ira leaned against his power sword, helping them to his feet with shaking metallic hands.

"Stand strong." He said. "We must. For Our Lady, if nothing else." They nodded. Arden vomited, spilling half-digested amino slurry over the floor.

The bolt guns of the commissariat barked, to no avail. The political officers could not hope to stem the primal fear that swept through the defenders. Many even begged for the blessing of a bolt shell between their eyes.

It was a rout. Ira hadn't seen one since his final few days as a skitarii of the Mechanicum, but he knew the signs. Even the Elodians fled before the unseen beast, crushing buildings and the slower civilians under their uncaring tracks. A swarm of fleeing soldiery approached him, but they would go no further.

"ENOUGH!" Ira bellowed through an augmented vox-caster. Pain lanced through his head as he shouted his command. His pastiche body was betraying him. "NO FURTHER!" He cried again. Somehow, miraculously, the shock of his voice echoing down the streets pierced through the primal fear that had nested within the tide of soldiers before him. Now, the hours his Lady made him stand in front of a mirror and recite speeches didn't seem so ridiculous.

"The Lady Inquisitor has placed our faith in us, her trusted few!" He bellowed.

A brutal pounding, and the ringing of adamantium. The unseen daemon roared its frustration as it tried to batter down the gate. Its cry of rage sent another ripple of fear through the defenders. Ira wanted to flee. Death was coming for them all, and it came from the warp. But he found his boots rooted in the ground. Damn her, he thought, his mind flicking to his Lady. Damn her for giving me this responsibility.

"No more!" He shouted. "Stand firm! To flee is to abandon your lives... to abandon the Emperor!" That grabbed them, and a few of the Ranshan soldiers slowed their retreat. "Yes!" He continued, pointing at the gate that shuddered under the daemon's assault. "The Emperor has put you here for a purpose! Men of Shao-la!" He cried, praying to the Omnissiah he didn't sound as scared as he felt. "Stand firm! Guard your homes and families! It is your duty! Your Len-wu! Cry out in song and slaughter the invaders!"

They were silent before a single lowly spearman hefted his spear, raising its point to meet the first star that shone in the sky. "We stand!" He screamed in broken gothic. His spear slammed against the road. "Stand!" He cried again, even as blood coursed from his nostrils. The spears rang, and a chant broke out among the soldiers.

"STAND. STAND. STAND."

"Men of Woadia!" Ira screamed, pointing at the panicked agri-worlders. "Our Lady has chosen you as her guard! Her voice is the Emperor's, and with it, she called you to her side! Will you run now?" A cry of wrenching metal sung out as the gate suffered another blow. "Is now the hour you abandon the Emperor? Is now the hour you abandon those who welcomed you as saviors?" He cried, gesturing out over Shao-la. "No, I say! Àuh!" The cry went up along the cramped roads.

"Àuh! Àuh!"

"Stand strong in the face of the arch-foe! This is your truest test! For Shao-la! For Woadia! For Our Lady, and for the Emperor!" He finished, thrusting his power sword to the sky. He activated it, and the blue sparks of energy sent a cry of hope through the defenders. He sucked in a deep breath, panting through the hammering agony that pounded in his head and set his chest into a heaving, roiling inferno. Tears spilled from his sockets, but they were no longer red metal. They were salt and brine, tears of gratitude and effort. These men were ready to face a fate worse than death with him. They were doomed men walking, all by his command. Lieutenant Varo emerged from the Spirit, flecks of blood wiped across his face.

"My Lord?" He asked, with a desperate, tear-stained chuckle. Their earlier clash lie forgotten. Right. Sell this city dearly. Time to give orders.

"I want every tank pointed at that gate. As soon as it breaks, I want you to open fire! Hurry!" The Eloadian saluted, snatching up his vox caster as he dove into the bowels of his tank.

"Colonel!" Ira barked. Longinus had pissed himself.

"My Lord?" He asked, hands behind his back, standing at perfect attention while the wet stain in his pants spread.

"I want a fighting retreat back to the Citadel, hear me? I want lasguns waiting behind every street corner!" The acolyte said, pointing at the road that led to the Citadel of Totha's Radiance, where their Lady searched below. "Round up as many civilians as you can, and take them with you." Longinus saluted, but Ira didn't bother to acknowledge it. A tide of flaming boulders hurtled through the air, crashing into Shao-la with throaty, hateful howls. Plumes of fire shot into the sky as buildings by the dozens crumbled under the sudden assault. A swell of screaming and anguished wails filled the city, filled it to bursting. Turning to the local Captain-of-the-Guard Dao, Ira saw raw, unfiltered hatred.

"My Lord?" He asked in his clipped, Ranshan bark.

"Hold the entrance, Captain. After the tanks deal with whatever is behind that gate, you need to stop the first wave. Buy time." The look in Dao's eye said it all. It was a death sentence, and he knew it. Another gut-wrenching squeal of metal, and the gate bent inwards. The hinges buckled and snapped. Soon.

"My Len-wu." Dao said, his eyes weeping tears of pride. "What a hideous way to die." He marched away, donning his brass helmet. "What a glorious way to die." He barked an order, and a company of Shao-la's finest packed the street with spears, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their shields glistened in the fires that spread across the city.

Ira turned to face the flagging gate. By the Grace of the Omnissiah, by the Grace of the Emperor, he'd been given more time than he had ever thought to receive. But the truest test awaited. And he could smell it from here. The daemon's scent transcended petty words like 'foul' and 'vomitous'. It was the sugar-rot smell of corpses, magnified beyond mortal limits and so thick that Ira could taste it on his tongue.

The gates broke, and the daemon shouldered aside the sundered gate. When it poured itself into the red glow of Ranshu's twin moons, Ira prayed to the Omnissiah that it would have stayed hidden forever.

The daemon was not some warp-spawned horror covered in fangs, nor even a single continuous being. It was a six-story titan, built from the countless dead that lay outside the walls of Shao-la, all wrought into a vaguely humanoid shape. Each limb was an amorphous mass of writhing corpses, each one rotted and reeking with decay. And its eyes. Two soldiers' stomachs had been stretched open, and where their ribcages were once full of corrupted lungs, two pupil-less yellow orbs replaced them, glistening in the moonlight.

Fear filled Ira. It was a real, primal fear, an alien concept to a mind molded with metal and wires. The daemon exuded wrongness, in every fiber of its repugnant form. But there was more than fear. There was hate. Hate so blinding and powerful it sent waves of relief pulsing through him.

He would do Lady proud. Leaving Uriel, Magos Tyrham's service, and the Mechanicum would not be in vain. He relished in the hatred he felt towards this beast. While many of his soldiers broke and fled despite their earlier encouragement, he grinned. This is my prey!

The daemon's mouth unhinged, bodies that fell apart in order to make a jaw-like simulacrum. It roared, filling the city with its horrid, gurgling cry. The sound crushed his soul into a puddle, pushing his heart into his stomach. Cowardice threatened to swallow his mind.

"FIRE!" He screamed into the microbead. Eight tanks erupted, a brutal, earth-shaking salvo of cannon fire. Each shell tore into the daemon, scattering the bodies it used to compose itself, pulverizing them under the weight of their firepower. Green gore and ichor-slime exploded from the beast, painting the walls behind it. When the smoke cleared, the beast was barely standing, its bodies perforated and torn.

A parched and ragged cheer went up from the bravest of the defenders who held their posts. The Sweet Sonjja fired its turbolasers, and two beams of cleansing crimson light sank into the beast, where they charred it black.

"RELOAD! RELOAD!" Ira shouted, his hand strangling the hilt of his power sword while the other gestured wildly. The beast tried to reform itself, its many bodies crawling and squirming as they piled together. It never got the chance. All nine tanks fired again, sundering the beast apart in a flash of thunderous fury. Bodies disintegrated as they suffering the unbearable weight of the barrage. The daemon was little more than a hundred cohesive parts when the roar of a Valkyrie pierced the air.

"This is for my leg, you son of a bitch!" Chung bellowed from his craft's loudspeakers, bathing the gate's entrance with a brace of incendiary missiles. Great roiling infernos burst into existence, their birth-screams drowning out the daemon's dying. A wash of heat slammed into Ira, and it felt as though his face was set aflame. More flames on the pyre that was Shao-la.

The weight that set upon his soul lessened, replaced by an exhausted hollowness. He knew the daemon was banished, vanquished by the Eloadians and Chung's missiles. His comrades were more effective than he had dared to hope. A new lesson to log for today: superior firepower wins everytime. Even against the worst the warp has to offer. Although 'worst' was over-selling the beast. It was no Great Unclean One that breached the gates of Shao-la. His smile was short-lived, as the sound of war horns filled the smoky air. The daemon had split the proud gate of Shao-la wide open, and shattered the gatehouse around it. The city walls now wore a gaping wound.

"Woadians," he said, snapping on his vox, "Fall back to the secondary line of defense! Provide covering fire!" They did as he ordered, scrambling over the timber battlements they'd spent hours constructing. True to their training and warrior heritage, they made an orderly withdrawal, each squad taking it in turn to pour lasbolts into the encroaching tide of heretics. "Captain Dao!" Ira bellowed, preparing his next order. He screamed it, but it was lost in the chant that rose from the warriors of Shao-la, swallowed by a soldier's Yǒng. As one, their shields clasped over each other, and a forest of spears fell level, ready to meet the enemy.

"My Lord!" Colonel von Israfel screamed, pulling at his red robes. "We need to fall back!" Ira did not move. He would witness the clash. To do otherwise would dishonor Dao and his men. The march of time grew still as the heretic army dove forward, howling mad war-cries. Von Israfel said something else, but Ira didn't hear it.

The song of metal piercing flesh flooded the streets of the burning city, as thousands of heretics fell upon a mere five hundred loyalists. There was little room to maneuver, and the press of the enemy's advance forced their comrades upon the Shao-la spears. Hundreds died in seconds, the guard's arms pumping as they drove their spears into the invaders. Pained screams accompanied the Ranshan song as the heretics threw their lives away, throwing themselves upon the wall of spears as they emerged from the flames.

A grenade fell among the loyalists, ripping a cruel, gaping hole in their phalanx. They did not falter as the heretics pressed them, rushing forward with maddened glee. Lasguns barked out, boiling flesh and chain-link armor away.

"Forgive me, my Lord," the Colonel mumbled, before ordering his commissar to bundle Ira away. He did not resist the larger man, and only a whispered apology fell from his lips as he watched Captain Dao and his men face their deaths with cold contempt.

* * *

The king tried to rouse himself, groaning in pain as he did so. "I am sorry my Lady, but I tell you no lies." A mental scan confirmed his strained words. The boy had not yet recovered from his surgery, and linen bandages covered his torso. No blood soaked the bandages, which was a good sign. He is recovering admirably, though it is unfortunate he cannot yet lead his troops. His presence on the battlefield would do wonders for Ranshan morale. Alas, he was stuck here with his nurses and his personal guard.

"Very well then." She replied. She had inquired if the boy-king had suffered any losses to his command staff or similarly valuable personnel. Besides suffering a bullet to his gut, the King and his ministers had suffered no losses. Shuryan, the Seneschal of Shao-la, was in perfect health as well, preparing the defenses of the Citadel should the main gate fall.

How the heretic marksman could consider his mission complete puzzled her. It did not bode well, that much was assured. However, she thought, eyes narrowing, the Regent was executed a few days ago, dying a corrupted traitor.

"Your Regent… he was in good health when he approached the Executioner's block?" The Boy-King nodded.

"As much as one can be when so foul of heart," he said as he coughed into his hand.

"Very well. I must return to the Archives. Magister Kung, would you please accompany me? There are things I must know." The blue-robed magistrate nodded, shuffling forward as his lower lip quivered in fear. Once the Lady Inquisitor and her guard left the King's chambers, she dragged the soft man into a stone alcove.

He spluttered and whimpered, his hands struggling feebly against the death-grip of her gauntlet. "M-m-m-my Lady, please!"

"The Regent! Where is his body?"

"B-b-burnt, my Lady! Minutes after he died!" He blubbered, trying to stow himself away in the furthest corner of his alcove. Outside stood her kasrkin, masked and impassive.

"His quarters, then!" She demanded, shaking the man until he bit his tongue. Blood filled his mouth, spilling onto his silk robes.

"D-d-down the hall!" He said, pointing frantically. "His Radiance has forbidden anyone to enter it for fear of corruption!"

"Do such restrictions apply to me?" She said, her voice like tundra wind.

"Of… of course not, my Lady."

"I thought so. Now, direct me to the Regent's quarters. Immediately." A painful gnawing had settled in her gut, a bilious ache that reeked of danger. The magistrate scrambled away the instant she loosened her grip, bowing and apologizing profusely as he led her down the soaring halls.

"Did he deserve such a rough treatment, my Lady?" Darron asked. "He has served us well." The Lady Inquisitor regarded him for a moment as they followed the court official.

"My witches' sight is clouded and roiling. I feel as though we are pressed for time, and a man such as him will delay us if he means to or not." Her kasrkin exchanged a glance before unslinging their hellguns. They had learned over many investigations that such utterances always yielded danger.

"My Lady." Kung said, bowing low before a heavy oaken door. It had been sealed off, holy candles burned at its side while prayer-sheets and seals of corded wood bared it shut. She tore through the pitiful barrier with a single stroke of her sword.

"What was his relation to the King?" She asked, stepping into the room. As her guard swept their flashlights through the chambers, she found that they were vast and spacious. Certainly fit for a man of his stature.

"He was His Radiance's oldest uncle. His young daughter is the wife of Seneschal Shuryan." The magister answered, head bowed low. A trail of blood left his lips, spilling onto the clean-swept and elegant carpet that adorned the floor.

As her eyes adjusted, the room came into sharp relief. It was strewn with papers and broken furniture. The place had been ransacked. As it should have been.

"Search the room." She ordered her kasrkin. She pulled at the drawer of a dark-wooded desk, finding nothing but fine clothes within. She sent a psychic probe through the chambers, and silence was her answer. Odd. The lingering scent of corruption is absent. Her hands ran along the edge of the walls, searching for any hidden secrets. "Was anything taken from here?" She asked the magistrate.

"No, my Lady. His Radiance was fearful his corruption would spread." She nodded. A prudent precaution. She continued her sweep of the room. It was better than drowning herself in vellum and ink. She tore the four-poster bed apart, finding nothing but clean wrinkled sheets. Ripping the carpet from the floor she found nothing hiding beneath but more cold stone.

She looked once more through the room before facing her own reflection, a colossal image. The mirror that bore it was heavy and gilded, a luxury of royalty. It remained fixed to the wall. Stooping she picked up a torn tapestry. It had been pulled from the walls, while the mirror remained attached.

A slow grin spread across her face. Striding forward, her hands caressed the mirror's frame, searching for a hidden device. It was subtle, and were she not blessed with many decades of investigative experience, the opening mechanism would have been impossible to locate. It was a small lock, no larger than the head of a pin. A device well beyond the planetary locksmiths.

"Malik, prick your finger." She said. He obeyed without question or hesitation, poking his index finger on the top of a long war-knife. Blood welled about the miniscule wound. Grasping his wrist, she pressed the wound into the lock, squeezing the pad of his finger as she did so.

Opening a connection to the warp, she let loose a hissed breath The blood froze in place, more solid than iron. It fit the mechanism without effort, and with a twist of her mind, the mirror gave a ragged mechanical gasp. Prying it open, she prepared herself for a trap or some other nefarious device.

There was nothing within the stash but a few sacks of local currency, wrought in thick, clean gold and crowned with a thick moleskin-bound journal. She searched the neat corners of the hidden space as a precaution. Again, nothing.

"My Lady," Chera said, stepping forward. The Lady Inquisitor waved her away, choosing to snatch the journal herself. It came without resistance. No markings decorated the cover, no mind-bending symbols or foul prayers.

Leafing through the first few pages, she discovered it was a journal, an account of the Citadel's most interesting events, with colorful acerbic commentary in high gothic, written by the Regent himself, if the signature at the end of each entry was to be believed. The standard petty provincial disputes infected his writings. Grief at the previous king's passing. Jealousy at being passed over for his deceased brother's small child. A foiled plot to murder him.

'Damnation!' Read one of the pages in the center of the book. 'Failure again! The child is more nimble than he lets on.' She skimmed through the pages again, scouring it for the typical signs of corruption. Contacting a cult here, a forbidden tome there. But no such entry filled a page. Horror began to gnaw at her heart.

"No." She whispered.

Faster and faster, the pages flew through her hands.

'Once more, he remains unscathed. Talented little bastard.' Said one entry. 'I find myself unable to summon my usual allies. They have grown weary and frustrated. As have I.' Said another. Faster the pages turned, hundreds of leaflets flicking through her hands in seconds. 'I cannot deny the facts any longer. My nephew is supremely talented. More so than I could have ever imagined. The people cheer for him.' She was nearing the end. 'I was blinded by greed. He is Emperor-sent. I look back at my earlier entries with the utmost shame. Long live King Han-sho!'

Six pages left.

'Traitors! Our neighbors have fallen to heretics, and each man, woman, and child has taken up arms to besiege our city. I have sent birds to our allies, but no response is forthcoming. I fear the worst.'

Five pages left.

This one was spattered with blood. 'Today's entry will be short. I am weary after sallying forth with my nephew. We cut a great swathe through the enemy, our lips spilling forth our favorite battle-yǒng. I am proud to have fought at his side.'

Four pages left.

'Praise be! Praise be to the Emperor! We received word that an Inquisitor will arrive here shortly! My nephew and I will perform the customary Archival Inspection shortly after our raid tomorrow.'

Three pages left.

The writing, which had been structured and neat, was now haggard and scribbled. The print of a desperate man. 'This is my last entry before I hide away this damning book. My nephew was struck when we sallied forth, and has… fallen to ruin. Any sane man would be in agony from the wound, but no screams of pain escaped him. His lips were flecked with froth, his demands strange and unreasonable. Despite his wound, he demanded we perform the Inspection. He marched with purpose and conviction down the hallways, even as his flank wept with blood. I knew then that the wound he suffered was more dire than I could have ever imagined. My nephew stormed through the voluminous archives, demanding to find a certain tome. When his fingers clenched around it, he began chanting in tongues unknown to man. He ensorcelled blue flames that pulsed with every foul word.'

Two pages left.

'The wound he suffered was touched with the warp. When his chant was finished, he turned to me with the most hideous smile I have ever seen. He spoke to me in a voice that was not his own. 'My thanks to you,' he said, words that haunt me more than the infernal chanting. I tore the book from his hands, causing my nephew to go limp. The guards came running, shouting and cursing. I ran. It sealed my fate, but I ran, bundling that eldritch tome in my arms. I sealed the archives behind me, granting me enough time to leave this for you, Inquisitor. I pray to the Emperor you find it.'

Fingers trembling, the Lady Inquisitor turned to the final page.

'Though I dare not open it, I leave my nephew's last book with you, in the hopes you might glean whatever that Voice desired from it. The guards are here now, battering at my door. He's turned them against me. Please, for the love of the Emperor, kill him and end his suffer-' The writing stopped.

Looking up, she found the tome, nestled underneath a sack of gold. It was bound in red, its borders ancient and baroque. Its cover was blank. She tore it open, and found nothing within its pages but gibberish. It looked like a code of some sort, but it was impossible to tell. She tucked the book away in her duster, spinning on her heel.

When she first encountered the King and scanned his mind, it was unblemished. She now knew that to be a lie, a spell cast on the round that buried itself in the King's stomach. Placed by Josephus' sniper, no doubt. How had he seemed so much like Ruby?

She stopped.

Ruby.

He reminded her of Ruby. The image was no mistake. No accident. It was conjured, either from within her mind when she linked their thoughts, or... A dagger of fear plunged itself into her heart, plunging into her the first real fear she'd felt in decades.

Or the Arch-foe knew of Ruby.

The ceramite of her knees clashed against the stone floor as the realization coursed through her. "My Lady!" Chera cried, coming to her side. The Lady Inquisitor ignored her as a blinding hate and a red fury consumed her.

When she stood the temperature plummeted, hoarfrost etching itself into the floor and filling each wall and crevice with warp-frost. Bladed ice protruded from her feet, swirling around her in a torrent of frigid rage. Her kasrkin cried out in pain, clutching at their chests as every source of heat was ripped from them. Only their carapace armor kept them alive. Magister Kung died, frozen in place.

The Lady Inquisitor stood.

"My… my Lady." Darron whispered, flecks of spit freezing as they left his mask. She did not hear him. His breaths came ragged and shallow, pushing great clouds of steam around his helmet. She lashed out at Kung as she stormed out of the Regent's chambers, shattering him into pieces.

Her face was drawn into a rictus of fury, and her teeth ground together as her eyes glowed a pale, pale blue. Each step was a deafening avalanche. The halls of the Citadel shook as she passed, the tapestries freezing in place, and snowflake-glyphs the size of battle tanks surrounded each footstep. Ice filled every corner of the hall, and a blizzard brewed in the rafters, its winds howling a furious, soul-rending gale.

The doors to the King's chamber burst apart from the sheer force of her mind, filling the room with oaken splinters. The nurses screamed, fleeing to the farthest corner. The King's guard formed a paltry phalanx before him. One look from the Lady Inquisitor was all it took.

They turned inside out, vomiting up their stomachs as the warp denied them their very existence. Muscle and sinew exploded from every orifice, and their skin peeled back to expose the flesh below. They froze like that, twisted into grotesque statues of unbearable agony.

The King laughed, the maddened cackle of a man possessed.

"Hello, my Lady." He said in a voice that was not his own. Her reply was silence, a frigid fury that left her shaking. "You seem angry." The King's lips split apart into strings of sinew, fangs shooting out from his bloodied lips as his jaw unhinged. He made a horrific bow as his limbs contorted, bones snapping as a puppeteer's hands forced them into impossible positions. "I do so enjoy seeing you flustered."

Roaring, she stampeded forward, power sword screaming. The former boy-king launched himself at her, but was beheaded in a single stroke. The foul presence vanished as the broken form slid across the floor. Ragged, gasping breaths filled her lungs as salt rivers froze themselves to her face.

The Lady Inquisitor screamed, unleashing her inferno pistol on the corpse. By the time it was spent, the floor was crumbling, blackened and melting away from the heat.

Only the King's head remained, twisted and corrupt. She screamed again, her breath frosting around her. That Ruby had appeared in the mind of the arch-foe defiled Her beyond words, beyond actions, beyond any capabilities she could express. She'd been out-manoeuvred once again, and a single remnider of her red-headed goddess had blinded her. Shame and guilt and rage and longing filled the king's chambers, torn from a ragged throat.

Panting, she turned to leave, and found her kasrkin waiting for her. They were horrified. The astonishment on their faces when they saw the King's chambers tore her from her rage, anchoring her in reality. Warp-frost ebbed away from the walls, dripping into scant puddles that studded the corpse-filled room.

"My Lady… wh-what. What happened?" Chera managed, tears on her face thawing. Darron was carrying her, and while his arms did not buckle from the strain, he buried kiss after kiss into his wife's shorn scalp.

"My Lady, I…" Malik said, before words failed him. She had no answer for them, no explanation.

"There is nothing I can say to you." Never before had they seen her like this, never so vulnerable. Never so powerful. "The King was possessed." Her fingers ran through the silky black hair of the king's corrupted head as she displayed it to her guard. Chera stood, just in time to vomit onto the ice-choked floor. Darron's hands swallowed his face.

"I had… I had my hands in him," he said. "Oh Emperor. I saved him. He was… Oh Emperor. I had no idea. Oh Emperor." Chera returned his embrace, stroking his back as he wept into her shoulder. Humanity's finest… what have I done to them? They've seen this sort of thing before, but only now do they weep. Her warp-fuelled rage reduced them to this, the full measure of her grief and pain spilling from her mind in cloying waves. The shame at letting her emotions run loose threatened to drown her. She tried to stem the constant flow of power, but her rage was too tall a barrier.

Her microbead crackled, and she found the sinister presence that sat on her witches' sight had vanished.

My Lady," Ira said, the words strained by static and distance. "The gate has fallen."

Sheathing her sword, she left the shattered chambers. "We have work to do. Let us go." She said, trying to ignore the rank fear that spilled from the minds of her trusted few.

* * *

**A/N: So I saw a lot of people were getting excited for Yang to fight the daemon... sorry that wasn't the case. Rest assured though, corpse-breath won't be the last daemon to appear in the story! :D**

**Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Review Replies****:**

**Magisking: Glad you enjoyed it!**

**Dom380: Never doubt superior firepower. XD**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Ehehehe... sorry...**

**SomeDude: That would have been pretty boss, now that I think about it.**

**Nemris: Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**The Walrus of Eden: Yeah... about that... hopefully the sheer level of "MURICA" leveled at the daemon made up for it in some small way.**

**OBSERVER01: You'll know, but not until it's too late...**

**Heitomos: While I love TTS, it wasn't a reference... or at least, one I wasn't aware I was making. Also, glad you're enjoying the fic!**

**snoogenz: I mean... daemons are daemons, dude! However, I really liked the design of this one.**

**SixPerfections: Not quite! But if you think there's no more awesomeness to come, you're sadly mistaken! :D**

**ThePyromaniac: XD**

**SkepsisForever: Hope it satisfied!**

**Gafgar: How does ten tanks sound? XD**

**Dayanne Rockstar: Ehehe...**

**Mintskittle: Ooh, you called it! Also, YAAAAAAAAS! I love your little scribefic. I was grinning like a maniac when I saw it. :)**

**Draconic Kaiser: Oh wow, you're making me blush! I'm glad to have you on board! Hope this chapter satisfied!**

**doorp: Well, she lucked out on that front, at least.**

**RED Roman Pyro: Not so orky... but still!**

**Legion of Misfits: Sorry dude. I hope whenever you get to read this, it still kicks ass!**

**Redcollecter: Well, there's always future chapters...**

**HampsterPig: I would certainly hope not!**

**PFCDontKnow: Hope you enjoyed yourself!**

* * *

**Can't wait until next time! And be sure to drop a review, I love to hear from you guys! :D**


	27. Tinderbox

**A/N: Some set-up stuff this chapter. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

**Book 2: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 26: Tinderbox**

_"They never stopped screaming over vox. Whole platoons wiped out. Each one begging for reinforcements. For the Emperor. For their lives." - Vox-Trooper Kella Tryggvisson_

Just when the pain in her head seemed as though it would sunder her skull, it ebbed away, receding to a pounding yet manageable ache. The Woadians panted and wheezed as they recovered from their mental anguish. Yang felt sick_. I never even __**saw**_ _the creature, and this is what it does to us_. Kella bellowed from the spire, his hand on the vox receiver.

"The gate's fallen! Orders are to pull back to the Citadel!" Curses rang out as the Woadians collected their weapons. The nearest Ranshan soldiers prepared the elevator, taking a brief moment to equip a spear and a shield.

"You heard him, boys and girls." Jorvis said, pointing towards the Citadel with his chainsword. "Let's get moving!" The fires that swept through Shao-la poured smoke into the sky, fed by even more flaming stones. From their position on the wall, they could see the streams of civilians and soldiery as they fled to the citadel, ragged forms that flooded the streets.

When they descended, it felt like hell itself was swallowing them, engulfing them in towers of flame and sweltering heat. Asgeg couldn't even summon forth the effort to vomit from the height. All along the wall, elevators and other lifts worked, ferrying the Woadians and Ranshan soldiers down into the dying city.

From what Kella and Lyrasson's Vox-Trooper could ascertain, Third Company and a detachment of the Ranshan guard were holding fast near the breach. Other elements of the 111th were digging in, preparing for a fighting retreat. For now, the breach was under a punishing volume of fire, and the tide of heretics was breaking upon Ranshan spears and Woadian lasbolts.

"I want constant updates!" Jorvis said, slapping the back of Kella's helmet. The vox-trooper nodded, gripping his lasgun with sweat-stained gloves. Yang checked her power cell, grinning when she saw it was at a full charge. Her comrades did the same, prepping themselves for the trials ahead. Prayers floated up into the night sky to meet the two crimson moons, accompanied by the whining hum of reloading lasguns and buckling helmets.

"Let's move it up, people, double time!" Captain Lyrasson bellowed, buckling on his own helmet. The company obeyed, a thousand troopers trudging through Shao-la. The streets were choked with panicked, fleeing civilians. A faint Yǒng filled the burning streets, stained with the smoke and ash that filled its singer's lungs.

A soaring fireball crashed into a shop, flattening First Company's vanguard with a wave of crushing heat and a tsunami of dust. Yang threw Ros to the road, weathering the worst of the primitive artillery.

"Fucking _Emperor_!" Caolin screamed as dirt and ash rained down on him. He was on his hands and knees, scrambling for his long-las.

"Anyone hurt?" Yang bellowed. A chorus of no's answered her, the closest one from Lyrasson. She hauled the Captain to his feet, and he grunted in thanks. Ros was next, spitting and cursing at the grit that filled her mouth.

The screams of the natives reached a fever pitch, fuelled by the spreading flames and column of soldiery. It unnerved the troopers, and fear began to swell within them. Lyrasson picked up his vox-trooper's caster, switching the transmit mode to public address.

"Attention!" He boomed, the words reaching above the roaring infernos and panicked screeching. "Please clear the streets!" Pointing towards the Citadel, he took a deep breath. "That is where you'll be safe! Now go! Go, damn you!" Many of the civilians heard him, and began scrambling up the streets, desperate to escape the fate that awaited them. They ran, scooping up wailing children and blunted farming equipment to use as impromptu weapons.

They thundered up the sloped streets, while the Citadel of Totha's Radiance stood watch over the dying city and its doomed citizens. _A city – a society – on the ropes_. Yang mused. _What a horrible thing to see_. The Breach in their first year at Beacon was bad, but that was a harmless prank compared to what Chaos wrought upon Shao-la.

"Keep at it, Rangers!" Lyrasson cried. A thousand voices answered him, and they continued their retreat.

* * *

Death. Destruction.

These were the words that entered Amat's mind. From his nest in the bell-tower of Shao-la's oldest cathedral, he watched a city die. The heretic's main advance was meeting stiff resistance, and was regrouping for another push.

Some of the warp-scum ignored their superior's bellowing. They dashed into the city to achieve whatever rape and pillage they could. He panned over to his target. Trooper Yang was descending from the walls, golden light filling the fingertips around her shoulder. Amat blinked. His Lady's blessing at work, no doubt. Even Amat wore her markings, flavored with litanies from the Temple's _Book of Patience_.

He'd watched her on walls. Watched her repel the enemy time and time again. She was not a warrior. Not the soldier she pretended to be. She was a _dancer_. Her limbs flowed like blood, struck like a Basilisk.

He wished he could have seen her battle the daemon that had battered down the gates of Shao-la. Now that would be a fight worthy of hymn. Amat smirked. _Maybe even a Yǒng or two_. Making light of the situation barely scraped away the unease that gnawed at him. Were it not for the gifts bestowed upon him by the Temple or the training he'd survived under its watch, he was sure the creature would have driven him mad. He'd seen the picts in training. Knew the prayers to keep their insidious aura at bay. But it was nothing like standing on the same soil as one. Seeing its eyes.

Repulsive. _Wrong._

There were no other words that fit the shambling creature. He shook his head before checking his remaining rounds. Twelve shield-breakers. Four Turbo-penetrators. Two Hellfires. Every time a heretic fell under his sights, he wanted to squeeze the trigger. But that was not his mission, and he needed every round.

As Trooper Yang reached the streets of Shao-la, she disappeared. Smoke from the fires that consumed the city shrouded her from sight, aided by the tangled mess of primitive buildings.

_Damnation_, he thought with a long sigh. The vantage point afforded by the bell-tower was one that a marksman would pray whole weeks for. But he could not see his target. Slinging his exitus rifle over his shoulder, he checked his auspex. With a few clicks, a lone green dot blipped into existence. Trooper Yang. The tracking implant that the Lady Inquisitor installed on her weapon worked as promised.

He descended the steps, his boots scraping against the ancient stonework at a pace most would consider inhuman. There wasn't a second to lose. His Lady's orders would be obeyed at all costs. _And maybe I'll get to watch her fight again, _he thought, his mind flicking back to Trooper Yang. _The heretics are in for one hell of a surprise_.

As he walked past row upon row of pews, a slender finger worked a shield-breaker into the firing chamber, locking it into place. The huge oaken doors of the cathedral swung open before him, once more revealing the pyre of Shao-la. He took it in.

Anticipation. Eagerness.

* * *

Unbidden by their officers, First Company quickened their pace, steel-toed boots hammering against the cobbled streets. Lasguns swiveled, each trooper on high alert. Lyrasson and Jorvis led the way, a tissue-thin map of Shao-la shared between them.

Yang's tongue ran over her parched lips. The countless fires gurgled, spitting out ash and charred corpses. As the streets emptied, an aura of eeriness settled into Shao-la. In the distance, the chorus of war swelled as the main assault met the combined defenses. Screams, shouts, and the apocalyptic bellowing of the Eloadian armor suffused the streets. She wanted to be at the front of it all.

Another boulder landed in the city, sending up a plume of orange flame. A few prayers worked their way through the platoon, accompanied by curses that wormed out from grime-stained lips.

"Do you think Mael's okay?" Ros whispered past the iron sights of her lasgun.

"I… hope so," Yang said, trying to knead away her headache. She hadn't even thought of him. _You're horrible_. She thought to herself. _He didn't even cross your mind._ "Dammit," She spat. As the battle waxed, she found it harder and harder to think. The pounding migraine didn't help. _Get yourself together_.

The hospital-tent was a good mile away from the raging pitched battle. Yang closed her eyes and wished the best for Mael's safety. Hissed, staticky voices filled her microbead, but she couldn't make out any words over the distortion. She sighed.

"This is bullshit." Yang grumbled.

"Preaching to the choir." Asgeg said, looking up to meet her eyes. Her three augmentic fingers rapped against the cold metal of her lasgun. "I pray to the Emperor we make it to the citadel in time."

"The glowing thing was weird though, huh?" Caolin asked, eyes focused on the fluttering cloak of the Company Commissar.

"Yeah." Yang said, her fingers brushing against the smoldering glyphs. They were still warm, but devoid of light, the marks now coal-black. In the month and a half since receiving the markings, she'd grown accustomed to them. Their quelling of her nightmares played no small part in that. "Our Lady's really something, huh?"

"Well," Svyr started before dousing his face in canteen water. "Maybe if she stationed us somewhere that wasn't being razed, _then_ I'd sing her praises," he spat. He wiped away the droplets of water, streaks of dirt leaking down his face.

"Don't be a whiny bitch, man." Theni said from behind them. His wounded leg was was still a half-step behind its partner, and he wore a pained grimace. Still, he did his best to stay with the platoon. Yang chuckled with the rest of her squad. Caolin patted Svyr's pauldron.

"From the wounded guy, no less," he said with a strained smile.

"Fuck off, kid." Svyr growled, shrugging off the marksman's hand. "Do you even see where you are? Look around you. This place is fucked." He checked his lasgun as Caolin's eyes met the cobble streets. "_We're_ fucked. Get some perspective and quit your fucking quipping."

Ros punched him in the face, sending him sprawling. Gamma platoon ground to a halt, their faces wide with shock. Svyr spat a tooth into the gutter.

"Hey, woah!" Yang said, pinning Ros' arms behind her back.

"Shut up! Lemme at 'im Yang!" Ros cried, straining against her. It was a like a newborn struggling against steel shackles.

"What in the name of Holy Terra is going on over here?!" Commissar Eberil screamed. He stormed over to the platoon while Jorvis and Lyrasson continued directing First Company. The squad straightened and Yang released her friend. Racking his bolt pistol, the Commissar leveled it at Ros. "Explain yourself, Corporal!" Now Yang needed restraining. Only Asgeg's augmentic arm kept her from punting the peak-capped bastard over the walls.

"You interfere, and he'll kill her for sure." Caolin whispered.

"Sir!" Ros barked, saluting. "Trooper Svyr was making discouraging and demoralizing remarks. Since this squad is under my command while Sergeant Jorvis is occupied, I took the matter into my own hands!"

"Oh fuck you!" Svyr cried, wiping blood away from his lips.

"Is this true, Trooper Skollsdottir?" The Commissar asked, grey eyes resting on Asgeg. She nodded, throat working. "Trooper Xiao Long?"

"Yes sir." Yang replied. "I mean-" She was too late, as the political officer had swiveled and pulled the trigger. The bolt-pistol's report echoed down the street, startling the Woadians who hadn't been near enough to witness Gamma platoon's squabble.

"Fuck!" Yang cried, recoiling as Svyr's blood fizzled and cooked against the burning walls of an apartment building. The Commissar took no notice of the shock or surprise, letting the steam from his bolt-pistol frame his face in sizzling cordite. The other troopers from First Company shuffled on, performing the sign of the Aquila.

"There will be no cowardice, no hint of swaying!" He cried.

"Emperor." Caolin whimpered into his scarf, hands over his mouth. "Oh Emperor."

"The Emperor," Eberil continued, glaring at Caolin, "protects. Remember, we are his instrument. Now, forward! Since your commanding officer is spoiling for a fight," he said, eyes piercing Ros, "there is a particular task that the Captain has in mind for you."

When his gaze rested on Yang, she gave him a derisive snort, meeting his eyes and willing death upon the man with all her might. Svyr wasn't the most personable of the Woadians, but he was still a comrade. Hell, she'd pulled his ass out from a crumbling building back on Jala Prime. _And this stupid fuckhead killed him for less than nothing_. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Punting him over the walls seemed like a fucking mercy compared to his new fate.

But as she continued to stare at Eberil, she saw the same weariness that lived in the face of every Woadian. He was tired. He was scared too, even if he didn't show it. He'd made a mistake, and he knew it. _It won't save him_. Just prolonged the inevitable. With a last snarling glare at the Commissar, she shouldered her lasgun and fell into step with the rest of Gamma platoon. Dealing with him now wouldn't do any good.

Eberil looked away, shuddering. Yang didn't know how to feel about that.

* * *

A half hour later, Gamma platoon was well ahead of First Company, holding a back-alley that led to the city square, where the main defense was crawling past. The sounds of the main push echoed throughout the streets. A crackling explosion rippled through the city, and a distant torch sprung into being. A tank's ammo was cooking off.

"Fuck!" Caolin shouted into his scarf. Yang patted his back, but it didn't do much good. The marksman shook under her hand. The sudden, unnecessary loss of Svyr had shaken them even further. Many hadn't had the rest Yang managed, and the fall of Shao-la was shaking them to the core.

The daemon's influence played no small part in it. Yang always found Woadians to be a stouthearted and boisterous lot, but it was impossible to see any of that energy in their eyes. Even Ros couldn't summon forth a speech. She sat behind their flimsy cover, a few smouldering beams and overturned barrels. While Jorvis helped coordinate First Company, she'd been put in charge of their mission to guard the flanks of the 111th's vanguard. But she couldn't shake the same feeling they all had. That they'd been abandoned. The way to the Citadel was clear, yet they felt separated. Alone. Weak.

Yang didn't share their concerns, but the death of Shao-la was getting to her. The burning streets were walls that pressed down on her. Crushed her between the crumbling streets, the howling screams of civilians and the tumultuous withdrawal of the loyalist forces. White knuckles wrapped themselves around the hilt of her power sword, fingers tapping against the guard. _If I just got to fight something, everything would make sense again._ She shook her head. Ember Celica stared at her, in the way only weapons you've forged yourself are able to.

_Is this where they die_, Yang thought, watching Theni close his eyes in prayer for the tenth time in fifteen minutes.

"Hey Ros," Caolin said, his boot kicking at the filth-encrusted streets. "You gotta minute?" Ros laughed. A bitter, broken sound.

"I doubt any of us do, but sure," she said. Her fingers reached for her lho-sticks, but came up empty. "Damn. This is why we ration, folks." Yang handed her one. Her last one. "Hm? Oh thanks, Yang." She lit it by pressing the end to her cover.

"Don't thank me yet." Yang said, stooping to meet her friend face to face. She took Ros' helmet in her hands and placed it on her head, tucking away her reddish locks under two inches of munitorum-issued plasteel. "I can take everyone else being down, but you need to get your head in the game, girl." Yang huffed. "I mean, everyone's shitting their pants, and the last thing we need is Corporal Ros getting mopy too." She gave her a weak grin, bunching up her friend's cheeks in her fingers. "Well, more so than usual, huh?" Ros slapped her hand away, the corner of her lips trying to move.

"Yeah Ros. We'll be fine. I mean, I'm here, aren't I?" Caolin said. His usual bravado rang hollow, and he looked disappointed, but Yang couldn't pinpoint why.

"Whatever, man." Yang said, punching his shoulder. "We all know I'm the one with the balls around here."

"Try a giant, fancy-ass sword." Theni supplied. Yang rolled her eyes.

"Contact!" Lorl bellowed, already firing crimson beams down the smoky streets. Black and green-clad forms scuttled under the lasbolts, diving into cover. The Captain was right. The arch-enemy was trying to outflank the defenses. Twenty guardsmen stared down at least two hundred heretics.

"Careful with your cells!" Ros screamed, flicking her lasgun onto semi-auto. "No re-supply this time!" Yang wasted no time obeying, switching from her preferred firing mode (full auto), to a more conservative one. No telling how many shots they could afford to lose.

More shrouded forms spilled into the streets, brandishing twisted weapons. A bullet fell in front of Yang, sparking up as it scraped against the cobble.

"Open fire!" Someone cried. The street was choked with ozone as Squad F filled it with lasbolts, scything down the Yǒng-lo. There were no grenades left, and not a flamer in sight. _Of course, now would be the best time to have both_. The hiss-crackle of autogun fire hissed over their heads, whistling and pattering into the apartment building behind them.

Crawling forward, the heretics advanced, weathering the blizzard of red bolts. But as she took a moment to reload, Yang noticed their faces were no longer full of determination. Instead, they were full of fear.

"I gotta a bad feeling about this," she whispered into her sights. Her eyes were starting to ache from all the strain. Her aura rushed to assuage her pain, but it didn't do more than remove the worst of the needling. The smoke was getting to her, and all she could taste was burning.

"Tenacious!" Theni cried. "Too Emperor-damned tenacious!" His lasgun coughed its last, and he tossed it aside, drawing a recovered laspistol. "Fuck!" He cried. The wall of corpses at the end of the street edged forward, hauled by Yǒng-lo reinforcements. An impenetrable mass of primitive armor and corrupted flesh.

"Damn it!" Ros roared, ducking back behind a barrel. A bullet kicked against it, and wood-dust spat everywhere. Lorl crawled forward, Mael's rocket launcher in hand. He brought forth the last rocket in his bandolier, a yellow-banded high explosive. Ros nodded.

"Fire in the hole!" Lorl bellowed, dropping the rocket down the breeching tube. He fired, and the rolling piles of bodies exploded into vapor, exposing the bulk of the enemy forces. Yang unleashed her lasgun, cutting down as many as she could before the stack of bodies reasserted itself.

Blood painted the streets, red rivers foaming up around the gutters and flecks of steaming viscera raining down upon the Woadians. And the _smell_. Yang almost wished she could die of smoke inhalation.

A Woadian fell, his head split into a shattered crimson bowl by a stray bullet. Someone snatched his lasgun up before his corpse hit the road. Prayers and cries of 'Emperor!' filled the streets of Shao-la, but Yang knew He wouldn't answer. _Just us down here._

"Oh… oh fuck… please Emperor, _no_." Caolin whimpered, shrinking away from his defilade.

"Caolin, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Ros screamed, turning to face him. "Face forward!"

"I…. there's… traitor marines. Behind them." He said. Yang tried to clamp his mouth shut, but it didn't do any good.

"Traitor marines?" Someone cried. "Oh fuck this, I'm out of here!"

"We have to try!" Ros screamed, trying to force Caolin back into his place. He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. Ros was weeping, but Yang didn't think she was aware of it.

Yang squinted past the blood, the smoke and the lasbolts that filled the streets. Sure enough, four lumbering forms shuffled forwards, just behind the remaining Yǒng-lo. She could _feel _the death that spilled through the gaps in their feathered blue armor.

She smiled.

"Yang?" Ros asked, hands shaking, lasgun trembling.

"Ros, I'm not gonna say this twice. Get the fuck out of here." A bolter round cut through the air, exploding into the street behind them. Curses and wails broke out from the Woadians. "Skidaddle."

"Skid-_what_?" Asgeg blubbered.

"Fucking _run_, you stupid bitch!" Yang bellowed, shaking Ros with all her fury. "I promised you I'd put you back on Woadia, and by the Emperor, I'm going to keep it this time!" She pointed towards the Citadel as the last of the Woadian lasbolts barked. "Take the Squad and find the rest of the Company! I'll take care of them." She said, nodding at the traitor marines.

"Yang, you can't possibly-" Ros cried.

"WHAT PART OF 'RUN' IS NOT CLEAR TO YOU?" Yang screamed, doing her best to channel Jorvis. Time was running out. "GO! _NOW!_" The red-headed Corporal obeyed, rallying the squad before fleeing. They didn't look back.

Drawing her power sword, Yang's headache evaporated. Bolt shells whined around her, but they might as well have been spit wads. She'd scared the shit out of Ros (if her face was anything to go by), but it was worth it. Against the traitor marines, the agri-worlders would get mulched. This fight was beyond them.

She activated the sword, thanking Weiss for the glowing weapon. Ember Celica hadn't been enough to deal with the monstrous fuck she'd slaughtered back on Woadia, even with her aura. _Glowing weapons are always nice_. Grinning, she took a deep breath. These were some of the best warriors in the galaxy. Yang always liked a challenge.

Vaulting over the shoddy cover, she plunged the point of her sword into the street. The four monstrosities stood before her, a hundred yards away. Now that the searing light of her comrades' lasbolts had stopped, she got a better look at the fallen astartes. Unlike their underlings, they were not rotting away. In fact, they resembled the shock troopers from earlier. Their armor was a dark blue, and fluttering black cloaks were pinned to their over-sized pauldrons.

"Welcome to Shao-la!" She bellowed, voice echoing down the twisting, burning street. "I am now accepting unconditional surrenders!"

A bolt shell slammed into her chest, and the back of her head smashed against the cobbling as the force of the blow threw her back. Pain filled her, and it was like throwing gasoline on a raging bonfire. Standing, she unleashed her semblance, and ghost-flame exploded into being, whipping her hair into a frenzy of molten gold. Gobbets of fire licked at her fists, and she gave the traitor marines her widest smile.

She cracked her knuckles_. This is __**just**_ _what I needed._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry to end it there! I promise you guys will enjoy what happens next! ;)**

**Oh, and fun fact - this chapter was originally titled "City of Tinder", but thanks to the hookup app, I realized such a title would be laughable**.

**Review Replies:**

**Reality Deviant: Huh. Now that you mention it, I see the resemblance. No one expects the little tots!**

**Nemris: Glad you're enjoying yourself!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: Hope this satisfies!**

**OBSERVER01: Well... these lips are sealed.**

**Mintskittle: Eeeeee! :D I always get excited seeing your name pop up on my review page. Again, got a huge kick out of your little snippet! There's something deeply rewarding about seeing my work apocryph-ied so to speak. As for the Shining Legion... LOOK! A DISTRACTION! *runs away in shame***

**Gafgar: I dropped some hints, but in all fairness, they are VERY subtle.**

**snoogenz: Well... kinda? :D**

**doorp: Agreed, which is why she dodged out on this particular battle.**

**shadow2777: Hehe thanks!**

**The Walrus of Eden: Hahaha glad you enjoyed it!**

**HampsterPig: Yang as an Inquisitor? Interesting my friend. Interesting. ;)**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Hope this chapter kept the 'grimdark quota' full. XD**

**Enuncia: I'm glad you like him! He's really grown on me as well!**

**Yusssss: Awww! Thanks so much!**

**Dayanne Rockstar: Well, guess we'll just have to find out!**

**ZalrokCSoulDeath: Wow! Thanks so much! Welcome aboard, friend! My schedule is _kinda_ weekly, but there's bound to be slips now and again. Also, woot! Dust Effect fan! And I don't follow Markiplier. I'm more of a Game Grumps gal. :)**

**Draconic Kaiser: Hahaha I got chills writing that speech out! They're always so much fun to do.**

**Sigurd: I mean... the comments were still accurate... before he got corrupted. Joffery was always a cunt, but he was never sneaky about it. XD**

**blaiseingfire: Hehehe! I always enjoying reactions like yours. :)**

* * *

**Everyone's responses these past few chapters has been awesome! You guys _ROCK!_ :D**


	28. The Fire-Dancer and the Painter

**A/N: Holy God-Emperor and the Thousand Saints of Terra! 500+ reviews! I... wow! I love you guys so much! There's a lot more where this came from, so buckle up and get ready to rock and roll! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 27: The Fire Dancer and The Painter**

"_His glory is wrought in flickering fire, and His fire is everlasting will. Rejoice, for His will is salvation made flesh." - Ranshan Y__ǒ__ng_

Yang could see their confusion from here. Warriors from the darkest pit of the warp, stunned into silence by the flickering incarnation of fire before them. She took advantage of their hesitation to give them a once-over. Two carried twisted bolters, and one carried a heavy flamer in his feathered arms. The tallest among them carried an ornate staff, and his armor was decorated in pulsing, nauseating runes. _No doubt about it, he's their leader_, Yang thought with a smirk. What Weiss had told her on Jala Prime was true. The rest of their armor was a dark blue, and a black bird emblem writhed on their shoulders.

_Josephus' best, no doubt_. Giving them a feral smirk, she dashed forward and retrieved her power sword. _Oh yeah. They'll do nicely._ Their leader barked an order, and a storm of bolt shells filled the street, banshee screams that called for her death.

Pumping aura into her legs, she was a golden blur that tore through the burning debris blocking her path. Never before had she been so _fast. _Behind her, a chorus of impacts shredded the crumbling city apart with a deafening roar, filling the air with clouds of vaporized rock and wood. One round clipped her shoulder, but her momentum was too great - it didn't even slow her. Her semblance gave a throaty bellow, filling her with power as she burst through a pile of Yǒng-lo dead.

_Almost there_. She surged forward, crumbling debris and flames licking at her heels. Shrapnel licked at her aura, but it may as well have been spit first traitor was only a few yards in front of her, his death just moments away. His bolter lowered, but it was too slow. She weaved around a bolt shell that flew towards her, relishing its killing power as it missed her by inches.

By then, it was too late for the towering freak. Her sword flashed, a blue streak of blinding speed and uncaring power. It slashed him from shoulder to groin, splitting him in two. His bolter came apart as well, screeching metal giving way to the crackling burst of ignited shells. Yang dove away from the explosions, rolling and skidding to a stop on the back of her heel. Three left.

"Is that really all you got?"

In response, his comrade brandished his heavy flamer, swinging it around to meet her. An inferno filled her vision, swallowing her whole in burning promethium. When the traitor marine let the stream die a few seconds later, she yawned. Her semblance roared even brighter, now a searing golden-white. Flicking a bit of burning promethium off her charred armor, she flashed her new friends a wide smile.

"_Wow_ you guys are dumb. Look at this," she said, grabbing a fistful of molten gold hair. "My hair literally sprouted fire, and you think _more's_ gonna help you?" Roaring an incomprehensible battle-cry, the man with the flamer brought forth a wicked, twisted sword. It shined like obsidian, black as burnt wood and bearing a monomolecular edge. _I love these guys_, she thought. They were ruled by brute force, but Yang Xiao Long ruled brute force.

The sword came faster than she expected. She threw herself to the side, dancing around the stream of bolter fire that licked at her heels. Grinning, she bounded over one of them, throwing an aura-enhanced foot into his face. Cursing, he stumbled and fell, spitting blue blood from the gaps in his twisted, gnarled helmet. She whipped around to face the rest of the squad.

Once more, she dashed forward, power sword crackling with glee. This time, they were prepared, and a bolt punched her in the gut. She careened into a wrecked stall, its burnt timbers crumbling on top of her. Her semblance ate up the pain, and her eyes turned as red as Ranshu's moons. Standing, she spat out the embers that filled her mouth.

"Nice try." She readied herself, but the three remaining marines didn't make a move. Not yet. Their leader stepped forward, his upraised hand reining in his comrades' palpable fury.

"What manner of being are you?" He asked, his voice like a knife scraping bone. With each word, the glyphs on his armor pulsed an angry, nauseating blue. Bracing his staff, he stepped forward. "My brothers and I wish to know before we kill you."

Giving them her widest grin, she waved him off. "I'm just a human." Yang said, once more running a hand through her voluminous hair as ghost-flame danced around her fingertips. She wore a feral grin. "And this is my semblance. Handy little thing." With that, she lunged forward, plunging her sword through a traitor's chest before he could react. She twisted the weapon, and electric-blue ichor sprayed her face, reeking of the warp.

"How's it feel to die, assholes?!" She bellowed. The last two turned on him in a moment, chewing his body apart with bolter shells in an attempt to reach her. Tearing her sword free, she stormed forward, straight into a howling salvo of bolts. They whickered off her, red-hot streaks of light that danced and burst behind her. "You'll need to try harder than that!"

The swordsman sprung forward. He was fast. Fast enough to make a decent Hunter. But Yang was not a 'decent' Hunter, she was in another class entirely. The sword glided off her own, shooting sparks across the street. The weapon screamed, a sound like the howling of lost souls. Yang brought Ember Celica across his face, staggering the titanic man and denting his helmet with a burst of pellets.

"Funny thing about it. You hit me, and it only makes me stronger. So go on. Hit me," she crooned, dodging an enraged swipe of the sword. "C'mon. Do it!" Roaring, the astartes brought his sword around. She met it with her own, and they struggled against each other, locked in combat. Mechanical pops and groans whined inside his armor, straining to best her. They couldn't. Disengaging, she ducked under his follow-up strikes, playing with him as he screamed in wordless frustration_. _"**Do it!**" She bellowed with a snarling, open smile. "Hit me! Here," she said, spreading her arms wide, "I'll give ya a free one."

He brought the wailing sword around. She swatted it aside, an ancient, twisted power weapon little better than a child's toy. Burning as bright as a forge bellows, her semblance illuminated the entire street in a staggering, blinding light. His death was at hand. With a flick of her wrist, she made to split him in two. He blocked the strike, but could not batter her sword away. Raising her blade with both hands, she readied another attack. This one was beyond him, as her furious blow stripped him of his sword, sending it clattering away into the night. Laughing, Yang pounced. He twisted to avoid his death, but his arm left his body with a vicious hum of her sword, crumpling to the floor in a pool of blood.

His remaining fist smashed into her face, knocking her back and splitting her lip. They just. Didn't. _Learn_. Spitting blood onto the street, she wiped her mouth as the wound sealed itself with a glob of ghost-flame. _Better that than my hair._

"Yeah. Like that," she growled. The wounded traitor brought up a bolt pistol, but Yang was too fast. Bowling him over, she pinned his arm down with her boot, standing proud atop his sickening armor. Her power sword plunged, screeching as it punched through his armor. Wrenching it free, she stabbed him again, burying the weapon up to its hilt. He wailed in a black tongue, his blood choking the gutters. Another swipe, and his head left his body, bouncing off the cobblestone and rolling to a halt. _One left_.

He stood in the center of the street, illuminated by the blazing inferno that was her hair. His staff rang against the street, struck in time to his demented chanting. The words… they hurt. Sent blood leaking from her nostrils.

"Hey!" Yang bellowed, marching forward. "What? You think praying to your masters is gonna save you?" Her power sword steamed, cooking off the blood that coated it. "You didn't wanna help your friend, huh?" He didn't answer her.

His prayer ended, and he tore his helmet off, revealing his eyes. They spilled blue flames, lazy spirals that licked at empty sockets. _Well fuck me_, Yang thought. Lightning burst forward from his outstretched fingertips, bringing her blood to a brutal boil. She screamed in agony, and not even her semblance could shut the pain away. She collapsed to her knees, panting. Her shoulder ignited with pain, and her hair roiled in protest. Smoke spilled from the cracks in her armor, and it reeked of ozone.

"Arrogant bitch!" The traitor spat, fingers crackling with power. "You'll pay for this!" He slammed his foot down in an attempt to crush her, but she rolled away, the impact throwing her to her feet. Yang stumbled, screaming as she threw a wild slash at her opponent. He dodged it, throwing a sparking fist into her stomach. It bypassed her aura, and something broke. The air left her lungs, and her lips blubbered as they tried to suck in breath.

_Fuck. FUCK!_ She tried to stand, but he slammed his boot into her stomach, pressing her into the cobbling. Blood trailed from her mouth as she struggled breathlessly against the powered armor. Now, the unusual edge her aura bore since her arrival in the Imperium made itself known. Yellow lightning lanced up her arms, fed by her rage, fueled by her overclocked semblance. He brought a bolt pistol forward, ready to paint her brains across Shao-la. She screamed with effort as she prepared to hurl him aside.

Thunder sounded in Shao-la, a crushing, teeth-rattling gale. The traitor marine fell apart, bursting into an electric-blue blood piñata. His armor split and sundered, showering her in red-hot shards of ceramite. The remnants of his body fell away from her, splashing into puddles of bright blue ichor. Wheezing, she stood, clutching her stomach. _That's gonna bruise_, she thought with a weak chuckle. _Too close. _Her aura and semblance were near their limits, pushed to the brink by the fallen astartes. With a long sigh, her hair fell about her shoulders, her eyes fading into their usual violet. _It's been too long since I've fought like that. Too much fun._ How the remaining one died still puzzled her, however. Standing and scouring the street, she found her answer.

Atop a roof behind her stood a single figure, a long shoulder cloak rippling in the smoke-laden wind. It shifted as it moved, its colors changing to keep its owner shrouded in invisibility. At his hip smoked an enormous rifle, one almost as tall as he was. She gave him a wave. He hesitated before returning it. She waved him down, beckoning with her sword and a toothy grin. As she shuffled forward, he obeyed, landing with cat-like grace.

"Thanks for the save, man," she said, limping forward. "I totally had 'im though." Appraising the stranger, she realized he was assuredly not Woadian. He was tall, clad in an onyx skin-tight suit, one that hid nothing of the corded swimmer's physique underneath it. His face hid behind a mask; its edges bone white, its visor a brilliant red.

"I…" He struggled with the words, seemingly unaccustomed to speech. "You're welcome." His sound was like ripples on a cairn, smooth and shaded. Yang snapped her fingers, realizing.

"You're one of Weiss' spooks, aren't ya?" She winced in pain as the words escaped her. _Maybe it's a little worse than I thought_.

"Are you wounded?" He asked, ignoring her question.

"I'm fine. Probably just a few broken ribs." He cocked his head.

"Just a few broken ribs?"

"You should see the other guy." She said, trying to smile.

"I… I think I'm standing in him." The man replied. True enough, his feet were stained with the electric-blue ichor that coated the whole street. Yang snorted with laughter, causing her to flinch in pain.

"Damn it," she said, sheathing her sword and continuing her limping march. "You got a map or something? I could use a little help getting back to my unit. Up for a little babysitting?" Hefting his rifle to a carrying position, the man nodded. _I hope everyone's still alive, _she thought. _This whole city's F.U.B.A.R._

"I'll do my best," he said. Throwing him a thumbs-up, she grinned.

"Thanks man. Give me a sec though, gotta take care of something." Scanning the street, she found what she was looking for. The severed head she made sat in the street, leaning on a broken horn that protruded from its helm. Scooping it up, she shook the fleshy bits out. The helmet's black eyes showed her reflection. She was filthy and coated in blue ichor, but she was grinning. _I bet Sarge'll get a kick out of this. Can't have them thinking I just ran away either. _

A flicker in the visor caught her attention. It looked like something moved behind her. Turning to face it, she found nothing but a dying city. What was left of her aura remained passive, unaware of any danger. Shaking her head, she clipped the traitor's helm to her belt, and gestured to the stranger.

"Alright, let's go." Shrugging, he nodded towards a winding, steep street.

"This way. It should lead us straight to the Citadel." Nodding, she limped forward, joining him at a corner. "Though I admit, I don't think you need my help."

"This place is a maze, dude. I should be fine if I find any Yǒng-lo, but I'll get lost in a second."

"Fair enough, Trooper." They started off, making their way over corpses of heretics and the gutted remains of a shop. Her new companion looked up at the Citadel, his strides silent and purposeful. Yang cocked her head at him.

"What's up?"

"Hm?"

"You look like you have something to say," she said, prodding him with a grin. He chuckled at that.

"You're perceptive. I was going to comment on your work with those traitors. It was quite something."

"You saw me kill them?" She asked, eyes narrowing.

"I got the last one, unless you've forgotten. But that was child's play compared to… that." He said, visor turning towards her unsheathed sword. "Many would say you're blessed." Yang snorted at that. Though in truth, she was relieved. The coil of panic that had tightened in her chest unwound. One more person she didn't have to restrain herself in front of.

"I'm the farthest thing from blessed, my friend," she said with a small smile. They stepped over a pile of corpses. She couldn't tell if they were Woadian or Ranshan. "Although, you're not… curious about what you saw?"

"Oh," he said, shaking his head, "I wouldn't say that. Quite the opposite really." She could hear the smile, even if it was hidden from her. "I know you're a psyker. I'm just…" he searched for the right word. "Fascinated with the way your powers manifested."

"You have _no_ idea how long I've been waiting to cut loose," Yang replied. Jerking her thumb at the carnage behind them, she flashed him a brilliant smile. "This is how I fight. This is how I _like_ to fight." She shook her head. "Imagine holding that under the surface. It just feels… wrong. Unnatural."

"I don't think I've ever had to restrain myself from fighting a squad of traitor marines in hand-to-hand combat," he said. She snorted again.

"You should try it sometime," she teased. "It's a lot of fun." He looked at her hand, which gripped at her stomach's purpling skin. "I think you're raising an eyebrow at me, but I can't be sure." He appraised her.

"A good guess, Trooper Yang."

"You know my name?" He pointed to the name-plate on her flak armor. It was charred and melted, but still readable. "Oh. Well in that case, why don't you tell me yours? Don't think I caught it," she said. "Only fair, you know."

"My… name is…" He struggled again. "I am Cognomen-Designate Amat." Yang looked him over again.

"Cognomen-Designate? What's that?"

"It means it's my name… kinda." Yang's brows scrunched in confusion.

"Kinda?"

"I am… from an organization that prides itself on secrecy. Secrets are better kept if they can't be named." Yang shook her head, grinning.

"That's the cheesiest line I've heard in a _long_ time. Come on, the sexy skin-tight get-up? The huge sniper rifle? It all screams _assassin_."

"I… this is standard equipment," he countered. "But the cameleoline cape was a precious gift from our Lady." The aforementioned garment fluttered in the heated breeze, rendering the right side of his body a shimmering haze. It was getting in the way of the view, but it was cool in its own right.

"Well, _Amat_, don't even try to deny it." He turned his head to reply, but Yang held her hand up, silencing him. The remnants of her aura rang like a bell. Danger prowled its way through the ruined streets.

"Baddies," she said. He cocked his head.

"Where?"

"Twenty men, two streets ahead of us." She drew her power sword, pointing to the alley that snaked away into a collapsed residential district. Around fifty yards away. _Likely more Yǒng__-lo__,_ she thought, _pillagers._ Looking over to Amat, he gestured towards an abandoned store. A hiding place. She clucked her tongue.

"I'll let you off 'cause you just met me." Yang whispered, beaming as she activated her power sword. "But remember: I never run from a fight."

"In that case," he said, "would you mind if I borrowed your lasgun? The ammunition for my rifle is more limited." His muscles coiled, his fingers stretching. _He's like a tiger, _Yang thought_, Just as lithe and twice as built. _She tossed him the weapon.

"I'm not so great with it anyway," she said. "That's my last cell though, so be careful." He nodded, adjusting the power setting above the lasgun's hilt. Turning to face the incoming enemy, she brandished her sword. "OI!" She bellowed. A heretic's head snapped around, where a crimson lasbolt met it. His arms flailed and he crashed to the street, his charred face belching smoke.

Yang darted forward, ignoring the slicing ache that cut through her chest every time her feet fell. Amat's supporting fire rained around her, a salvo of red death. She felt each one pass by her, boiling the air and missing by inches. It was surreal, like standing in a downpour and staying dry.

Roaring, she bowled into the remaining soldiers, hacking away with her sword. They fell apart as they always did, screaming as the flashing blue blade carved them into steaming slop. When the last one died, she let herself feel pain again, and it returned with a vengeance.

"Fuck," she hissed. "Ow."

"Impressive work, Trooper Yang."

"Ah, just call me Yang. It's weird since you're not Sarge. Oh, and cut the bullshit," she said with a grin as she looked over the pile of corpses, "I only managed six of 'em." The rest had fell to Amat, each one bearing the same wound: a burnt-black hole where their right eyes should be, boiling blood seeping from their noses.

It was the best shooting she'd seen in a long time. Ruby didn't shoot like that until their second year at Beacon, and it made Caolin's 'marksmanship' look like baby-town frolics. Yang toed a heretic's face, watching as steaming brains poured out from his ruined eye socket.

"What power did you set it at," she asked as Amat rejoined her.

"The lowest it would go without making it a stun gun," he replied, handing the weapon to her stock-first. Checking the cell, she saw he'd only depleted about a tenth of the remaining power, which she would have spent in three shots.

"You know," she said, "why don't you hold onto it for now?" She rammed the cell home and tossed him the weapon, which he caught with an expert hand. "I can see why Weiss keeps you around."

"...Indeed." _Damnit. I keep using her name. _Amat didn't seem to notice, so she decided to let the matter drop for now.

"Let me guess… super secret training from your 'organization'?" She nudged him as they continued their ascent towards the Citadel. After a few seconds, he turned to face her.

"Do I get to deny this one?" Yang laughed, wincing as she did so.

"Ah. Gotta stop making me do that. Been awhile since I've broken anything." _Two and a half years, actually. _Physical pain outside of her frequent headaches wasn't something she was accustomed to.

The roar of the vanguard's battle had faded since their scuffle, and now only the occasional cannon-bellow echoed through the streets of Shao-la. _It looks like the Yǒng__-lo are regrouping before another push._

"We better pick it up," Amat said, noticing the relative quiet as well. "You good?" Yang nodded, sheathing her sword. They started a slow jog up the road. Each step was a needle-knife that plunged into her lungs, but she soldiered on. Ros needed protecting, and she'd be damned if she didn't do what she could to keep Shao-la safe. Her aura was trying to heal her, but closing superficial cuts was different than mending bones. It would a while before she was whole, and walking on it didn't help things either.

"Were you hunting those guys," she asked as they turned a corner. Besides broken shops and smoldering refuse, the street was empty.

"The traitors?"

"Yeah. Big blue bastards." He was quiet for a moment, pondering his answer. "Come on, don't play the 'it's classified' game," she teased. "We both know I'm the biggest secret Weiss has got." Amat considered that, his visor scanning the street for the third time in as many minutes.

"If you insist, I was on the look out for powerful members of the arch-foe. By the time I found some, you'd done most of my work. It's good we stopped them there. If we hadn't, they might have crippled the vanguard."

"You're welcome," she said, smirking.

"Said the woman with broken ribs," he replied. She waved him off, a gesture that sent pinprick pains coursing through her flank.

"Ah, I totally had 'im," she reminded him. "He got a lucky hit in. Or lightning. Or whatever." He chuckled as his lasgun swept the streets, checking each abandoned alley they passed. One contained a dog that was more bones than flesh, tearing at something Yang didn't want to think about.

"Most would consider seeing a traitor marine and surviving miraculous. You killed three of them." He paused. "With a _sword_." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. I wish Ember Celica was more powerful," she said, glancing at her precious gauntlets. "I'm better with these, but they can't get past their over-sized armor."

"Where'd you get them?" Amat asked. Yang beamed again, meeting his hidden gaze. She cocked Ember Celica, and the weapon expanded into its fullest form.

"I made 'em."

"Trooper-" She cut him off with a stare. "_Yang_. I am privy to some of the most advanced technology the Imperium has to offer," he said. Her eyes parsed the man's sniper rifle. It was well beyond anything she'd seen in the armory. "And I can't say I've seen something like that."

"I'm just full of mysteries." She threw him a wink. "Same as you, assassin-man. What's under that mask anyway?"

"Sorry, that's classified." He said, returning his stare to the road ahead of him. She huffed.

"Alright, how's this? I'll answer your questions as honestly as I can, and you'll do the same in return. Once you run out of questions, you take the mask off." She bit her lip as her ribs set her torso on fire once more. "Then we're even."

"Even?"

"Oh come on Amat, don't play games. You're curious. And that's honestly pretty refreshing," she said with a sigh. _The Imperium can choke on its willful ignorance_. This man's mind was open. Sharp, lithe, and focused, but open all the same.

As he considered her proposal, she took the time to slow her breathing. Aura recovery was not a simple matter, and she'd need every ounce of it for the fights ahead. It was hard to focus, however. Every sip of air she took tasted like _burning_. At least it didn't smell like the Yǒng-lo.

"I accept," Amat said. "But the mask will stay on." Yang huffed.

"Taking advantage of my wounded state, I see."

"Don't pretend, Yang. Even as you are, I have no doubts you could try to kill me." She stopped walking, brow furrowed in confusion.

"_Try?_"

"Well… yes. Try." He said, cocking his head in confusion.

"Terra, if we weren't in the middle of a war zone, I'd show you just how wrong you are. I'd _destroy _you, assassin-man."

"Then it's a good thing we're in the middle of a war zone," he said, deflecting her challenge. She huffed, watching him take point. Well, she watched his ass. _Probably goes to the same leather store as Weiss. _"And as you said, you're wounded." His visor peered over his shoulder, catching the fire in its red-patterned visage. "Wouldn't be fair."

"You're a sniper, I'm sure 'fair' is the last thing on your mind." Amat stopped walking, lasgun braced against his shoulder. A heartbeat later, Yang's aura twinged. Her hand shot to the hit of her sword, the other bracing Ember Celica.

A heretic bellowed at them, rotting teeth braced with glee at discovering more 'victims'. He was on a roof above them, one of the few buildings that remained intact. Amat shot him through the eye, and he fell to the road with a meaty crunch. Two of his comrades ran into the street like dogs, scrambling on four infected limbs. Wood-stocked rifles were slung across their chest, scraping the road as they scurried into firing positions.

Yang unleashed Ember Celica, and the pellets tore into one, rending skin and muscle but failing to kill him. His head dipped in confusion.

"Aw fuck," Yang said. _More of these guys_. Amat fired, frying her target's head. He went down, tumbling as his bony knees scraped and skidded across the pavement. Another lasbolt caught his buddy in the chest, escaping from one of the more intact buildings. It stumbled him, and he snarled in anger turning to face the alley it'd come from.

Mael was too fast, however. The mute barreled out of the alleyway, knocking the man-creature to the ground. Mael's steel-toed boot fell again and again, grinding the heretic's face and chest into splintered bone. He screamed in his incoherent muteness.

"Mael?!" Yang asked. Her friend's head snapped around, and a wide grin replaced the furious berserker's grimace.

"Ng!" He said, waving. Amat's rifle lowered.

"You're okay, buddy!" She cried, running forward as her ribs screamed in protest. Embracing him, she stepped back, finding a rictus of pain writ on Mael's face.

"Ooh… sorry about that." He waved her off, but Soo was less forgiving. She dashed forward from the same alley, yellow eyes wide and ragged nurse's garb flapping. She hollered something in Ranshan, glaring at Yang. She checked the bandages that wrapped around Mael's torso. They were bloodstained, but holding.

"Shu yur que na?!" Soo said, shaking her finger at Yang. "Fu-cheen ju woe!" Yang looked at Amat, shrugging. Mael rubbed the back of his shaggy head, looking sheepish. From the alley, a crowd of wretched civilians slithered forth, all filthy, all wrapped in bandages. Towards the front was the old nurse she'd met at the gatehouse.

"What's going on?" Yang asked.

"Hospital _nightmare_." The old woman spat. "Infection. Horrible. All brave soldiers die." She muttered something in Ranshan. "All die of infection. 'Cept muscles here," she added, nodding at Mael. Wrapping Soo up in his arms, he did his best to reassure her. He patted her hair, the long black locks bound at the shoulders with a golden bow.

"There are fifty-two survivors." Amat said, drawing her attention to the rest of the civilians. A few had lasguns, but it was obvious they didn't know how to operate them. The only place they were clean of soot was the tear trails that marked each one. At least twenty of them were children. Amat looked at her, and she returned his stare. _They have to come too_. The words were not spoken, but he nodded regardless. His cloak swished, and he scanned the streets as the old woman continued her explanation.

"Muscles got everyone on hurry-up once… badness started," she said. Yang didn't need to speak Ranshan to know she was referring to the daemon. The fear in her voice was proof enough. "We make for Citadel."

"We're meeting up with First Company." Yang said, calling to Mael. He turned to smile at her with a pained grimace. Nodding, he shouldered his lasgun and put Soo behind him. He waved everyone forward. They approached unwillingly at first, casting hasty glances around to make sure the danger had passed. Once they saw Yang, hissed whispers flitted among them. She gave them a hearty smile and a small wave. A little girl returned the gesture. Others watched Amat with open mouths and wide-eyed stares. It must have been a sight, since half of his body was hidden away by the cameleoline. The little girl waved at him too before hiding away in her father's robes. Amat didn't know how to respond at first, so he decided on a small bow before gesturing the group forward. Yang smiled.

"To the Citadel people, let's go," she cried. Everything hurt. Her chest felt like a pincushion (well, more like a sword-cushion), and each breath was more painful than the last. But damn it all, seeing Mael alive and well made it easy to forget everything smelled like death. Having Amat along for the ride was also reassuring. Whoever he was, he was a talented man. _Still gonna kick his ass though…_

"'Try', he says... hmph."

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**A/N: This is probably my most-edited chapter since Chapter 11. It's gone through a lot of revisions, but I'm happy with where it ended up. While I'm sorry the fight didn't last longer, I couldn't expand it without it sounding wrong or artificial. That being said, I had a total blast writing it, and highly recommend reading it while listening to the 'I Burn" remix! XD**

**Any other thoughts? I'd love to hear them! Every review I get makes me super happy! :3**

**Review Replies: Holy shit you guys, this chapter got more reviews than the Weiss reveal chapter. I'm super grateful! Also, your tears about the cliffhanger are as potato chips: salty and delicious! :D**

**reality deviant: Hope it delivered!**

**The Walrus of Eden: It smells like burnt traitor marine! **

**Draconic Kaiser: Thanks, man! So yeah, I don't think you were expecting an answer to the hospital thing so quick, but I hoped it satisfied.**

**Nemris: They'll never bring enough! XD**

**Skepsis Forever: I hope this answered your questions!**

**doorp: Too bad, cause I thought it was hilarious. **

**Coolname222: Oh wow! Thanks so much for enjoying it! I'm having so much fun writing it.**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I might be stretching it a bit, but she's more powerful in the Imperium than she was on Remnant.**

**blaiseingfire: Heresy begets retribution.**

**OBSERVER01: Hahahaha well I hope this chapter satisfied!**

**Destrark: Hahaha my thoughts exactly!**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: You called it pretty much exactly! Nice job, dude!**

**snoogenz: Badass enough?**

**Guest: Soz, bro. **

**soupie13941: Well I'm glad you think so highly of my story. And no matter what happens in RWBY, I'm going to keep plugging away at this.**

**DoomLich: Huh, I wonder... :D **

**Mintskittle: Some interesting thoughts you have there. Also, your scribe-fic continues to be kick-ass. Never get tired of reading it. Ever.**

**Guest: From the Congo? Jesus dude! Talk about the power of the Internet! You called Amat's intervention by the way, nice job!**

**shadow2777: Thanks!**

**Sigurd: Well, there was just the one. But damn nice job calling it! XD**

**HD-spartan: They're a splinter group, but yeah, nice call on the semblance!**

**Dom380: I hope you enjoyed it! I'm glad you enjoy Amat as well. He's grown on me quite a bit!**

**Galm: Sorry/not sorry. :3**

**Gafgar: Haha yeah, she wiped the floor with them.**

**Redcollector: Berserk barely cuts it! **

**Dayanne Rockstar: Ooh, nice call!**

**RED Roman Pyro: They are very nice and killy.**

**Enuncia: The Eldar are coming, have no fear! I'm pleased you enjoy them so much, as I was very worried about how I tackled them. Also, don't worry about it, dude! I'm really glad I helped out BatB! It's one of my favorites! Thanks so much for being so cool! :D**

**Yoshtar: It was grating on me too... which is why she went ham on these guys. Thanks so much for your kind words!**

**HampsterPig: I like how you thought all that up and she grabs her sword in the second paragraph. XD**

**ZalrockCSoulDeath: Hey, welcome to the show! Thanks for your review!**

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**I... whew. My fingers hurt. THEY HURT SO GOOD. You guys just make my day. Thanks so much for your reviews, each and every one. Keep 'em coming, guys! :D**


	29. Walking Wounded

**A/N: You guys... the reviews you guys are leaving are so great. I'm so happy to have you guys along. You're the best!**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 28: Walking Wounded**

"_When I saw Yang slaughter the invaders, it was hard to believe I had witnessed such a thing. Seeing her smile so widely afterwards was even more difficult to comprehend." Soo Nuyen, healer of Shao-la_

Uncertain. Unexpected.

Twenty minutes ago, Amat was in a comfortable place, padding across the rooftops of Shao-la as he scanned for his target. Now… well, _now_ was unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory. Escorting civilians across dangerous, arch-foe infested ruins was not something that the Holiest Temple instructed him in. But Trooper Yang had made them her responsibility the instant she saw them shambling out of an alley. Not only that, but he went along with it without question or complaint. Why? The answer wasn't coming. Pain blossomed in his head, a slow, unfolding ache.

He took a long breath, one that tasted like ash. He'd been trained to ignore worse. The end of his borrowed lasgun swept the streets, on the prowl for targets. However, there was only a dying city. _Six alleys, all possible attack vectors. Narrow. Ten assailants at a time maximum. Two seconds to intercept. Given current operational objective to protect citizens, not enough time. Nine buildings. Five apartment complexes, one butcher's shop, one bakery, two storehouses. Three burn, the rest: intact. Twenty-four windows that could serve as firing positions. _He checked them, double checked them, triple checked them. _Nothing_.

He exhaled.

The answer to his question still eluded him. His earliest assessment of Trooper Yang had been accurate... yet hasty. She _was_ a mystery, bound in a waterfall of blonde hair and a white-toothed, infectious smile. But she was not the pious warrior her exterior implied. She was boastful, curious, and belligerent. Traits not expected from someone so clearly blessed by the Emperor. Traits that encompassed Trooper Yang mind, body, and soul.

As always, his Lady was correct.

Through his scope, he had only seen her slaughter-dance, a mischievous smirk or two. He had not expected to meet her in person. If he had, he would have prepared. Catching his eyes on his next sweep, she gave him a wink and a thumbs-up while she spoke to Mael.

Amat realized he could never have prepared himself for Trooper Yang Xiao Long.

He scanned the road once more. The two moons of Ranshu were shining through the lazy columns of smoke that reached out to meet them. They shined like rounded lasbolts, casting a red pallor on their ragged procession.

Night seized ahold of Shao-la. As the stars blinked into existence, each was accompanied by a piercing scream, a constant ringing that filled every street. _It is their Epitaphum, their death-echo_. He shook his head, causing his cameleoline cloak to shift and rustle. 'Epitaphum', a distant yet familiar word. Felt like orders in hypno-sleep. His temples ached.

"How we doing up there, Amat?" Yang… Trooper Yang. Her voice was laced with pain, despite her attempts to mask it.

"All clear," he replied. He checked his auspex. "We might make contact with allied forces soon." Amat looked up at the Citadel of Totha's Radiance, soaring atop a mountain of blackened rocks and studs of yellow crystal. Though they shone over the glow of Shao-la's fiery death, they dulled in comparison to the display of raw power he'd witnessed earlier that evening.

Unarmored. Alone.

That was how she fought, how she _slaughtered_ the traitor astartes. His intervention had been an unsure thing. _Could she have conquered the enemy sorcerer?_ He pivoted, once more assessing the situation. They'd made progress, but even with Trooper Yang's limping pace, the civilians were lagging behind, weighed down by wounds and worry.

He took a long, slow breath. The scene played itself again. She was just so _fast_. A golden blur that soaked up punishment like a Baneblade. She laughed at the one with the flamer, shrugging off damage that would melt terminator armor.

The worrying part of it all was that she enjoyed the fighting. Bravery? Bloodlust? It was impossible to tell. They were often two sides of the same bladed coin. Amat's fingers tapped against the side of his borrowed lasgun. Was the power of his exitus rifle enough? Such a thought would normally be laughable, but now... she was resilient beyond measure. Shield-breaker rounds existed for a reason, but even they seemed a paltry measure now.

He exhaled, returning to the task at hand. An unpleasant twinge of saccharine rot filled his nostrils, filtered and offset by the clean chemical tint of his rebreather. The enemy was near. Halting, he threw his fist up. Yang was at his side in a second, sword at the ready.

"Where are they?" She demanded.

"Can't tell. They reek though," he replied. She took a whiff, frowning as she did so.

"All I smell is smoke."

"You have to learn to differentiate." Amat paused. "Smells layer atop each other, and this one lies underneath." Yang scoffed at that, rolling her violet eyes.

"Is that what they taught you at assassin school?" And that was another thing. Her deduction wasn't a difficult one to make – far from it. It was that she wasn't intimidated. Encounters with people outside of his Lady's inner circle and the temple staff were few and far between, but all marked with the same expression: fear. And fear was as alien to Trooper Yang as the sound of his own voice.

"Well, I _was_ taught to stay quiet." Amat said, earning a wide grin from his new companion. He couldn't help but enjoy her reaction, despite his growing confusion. Why had he said that? Where did it come from?

He'd spoken more words in the past twenty minutes then he could remember speaking in his entire life. All at the behest of Trooper Yang Xiao Long. _She is the opposite of my Lady_. Where the Inquisitor is quiet and determined, Yang was boisterous and easygoing.

Gregarious. Uncouth.

He smiled, despite the gnawing pain within his head.

* * *

"So where are they?" Yang asked, hand on the hilt of her power sword. Amat had lapsed into silence, and only panicked cries and the refugee's nervous whispers reached her ears. Her aura was very low, to the point where its most precise abilities were lacking, dull and unresponsive. Only the constant ache of danger persisted, seething from the charred doorframes of Shao-la in a noxious red haze.

"Up ahead." He gestured with her lasgun towards a small square up ahead. The buildings that surrounded them were taller than the ones they'd been crawling through, built with well-crafted stone and flecks of a marble-like stone. Crystals lined the nicer buildings, shining a soft yellow light onto the square.

The Ranshan tongue reached her, ringing against the brickwork roads. However, it was tinged with words that made her shoulder burn, phrases that made her skin shiver against her tunic. A Yǒng-lo commander was giving orders to his multitude of subordinates, roaring and gesturing with a two-handed sword. Turning to face the civilians, she mimed 'silence' and 'get down' as best she could. They understood her, shaking with fear as they nestled themselves onto the streets, smothering the children that whimpered or cried.

"What are our options," she hissed. Amat pointed to a side alley that snaked into Shao-la. It would be roundabout, but it most certainly led back to the Citadel.

"We could slip by there, but it's too close to the heretics. We could make it no problem, but the civilians won't," he said. Yang shook her head. "We could wait. It seems they're preparing to move."

"They look like looters to me. I don't think they'll be going anywhere except for a few nice shops. We should kill them," she suggested. Her first count had them at around two platoon's worth of soldiers. _Child's play if I wasn't wounded, and I could fight with my aura. Damn it all!_ As it was, this looked to be a slight challenge. "If we give you the rest of the cells, do you think we could do it?"

"Undoubtedly. Though I still couldn't guarantee their safety," he said, gesturing at Soo and Mael. "They'll rush me, and find a bunch of easier targets." Appraising the square, an idea struck her.

"You a runner, Amat?" He considered this for a moment.

"I'm not the fastest, but I can easily outrun some armor-bound heretics. Why?" It was an older tactic, (devised by Ruby), but an effective one. Yang pointed at the farthest building, a three story eatery. It was mostly intact, peppered with arrows and stained with blood on the lower walls. It would serve. The square wasn't big enough to do the usual kiting, so a building would have to do.

"Get their attention. Hose 'em down, then dash in there," she said, pointing. "I'll hit 'em from behind."

"That's when I emerge from hiding and cut them down," he said.

"If I leave you any." Yang said with another grin. _We can do this_. Mael approached them, crawling forward as he cradled his lasgun in his arms. Each movement wracked his face with another grimace of pain. Yang told him the plan in a hushed whisper, collecting his last cell and tossing it to Amat. The Woadian was miffed, but she knew where that ammo was better spent.

"Now whatever you do, don't move. If you're seen, the whole plan goes to shit," she said. The civilians only had a few lasguns left. Not nearly enough firepower if they were caught. Amat gave her a hesitant nod.

"Here… take this," he said, offering the Woadian his cloak. Mael took it in awed hands, letting his fingers fill with the silky, translucent cloth. "Your friends could use it." Nodding, he retreated, his face twisting in pain.

"That might have come in handy." Yang said. Although she did feel better that it could do a little good for the refugees.

"Somehow…" he said, his grin audible through his mask. "I'll survive." Tapping a button on his wrist, he vanished from sight, seemingly swallowed whole by the city around him.

_Showoff. Although I have to admit… that's pretty cool_. She eased her sword from its scabbard, the blade silent as it left the polished plasteel. With a closer look she could still see Amat, albeit barely. The only indication he was advancing was a thin outline of rippling light. _What else does Weiss have up her sleeve?_ She prepared herself to dash forward, hissing in pain as she stooped low. Air was in short supply, each breath more difficult than the last. _Come on._ _Fight, dammit!_

Amat revealed himself, appearing out of thin air near the crowd of Yǒng-lo. His borrowed lasgun roared, cutting down their leader with two unerring lasbolts. One boiled his brains away, the other punched through his heart. Before he could topple from his perch, ten more of his warriors fell, screaming in agony. The assassin dashed along the walls of the square, never once pausing his salvo of fire. They stormed after him, hooting delirious curses.

Yang stormed forwards, boots padding across the square in a storm of steel-shod leather. They never saw her coming. Her aura was still in the red, and she did not strike with her usual alacrity. Even still, the heretics could not repel her. Some turned to face her, while the others chased after Amat.

They were confused. He had done well to kill their leader first. Hacking them apart, Yang bellowed challenges, dared them to advance. Across the square, Amat scrambled up the side of the eatery, not bothering with the door. He was a fast climber, and it took just three seconds for him to reach the first balcony. There, he rammed a new cell home and continued his barrage.

"Come on!" Yang cried, daring a heretic forward. He snarled in rage and despair, stepping forward with his sword braced for a killing blow. It never fell, and his head tumbled from his shoulders before he could bring it down. She grunted in pain as her power sword continued its arc, flashcooking her next opponent as it severed his torso from his legs.

Between her sword and Amat's unrelenting fire support, they made butcher's slop out of the heretics. They turned to flee, but the her new friend allowed none to escape. Panting, Yang deactivated her weapon, leaning on the point for support. Waving the civilians forward, she continued the ascent towards the Citadel. Amat descended to meet her, lasgun barrel trailing lazy wisps of smoke. He reeked of ozone.

"Nice shooting, man," she said, trying to grin. She coughed instead, splattering blood on the square.

"Emperor!" Amat hissed, starting forward. He reached forward, hesitated, and retreated. "Are you okay?"

"I'll make it." Yang said, wiping her reddened lips. "We gotta keep going. We're almost there." Nodding, he marched forward. Soo bowed her head in thanks once she neared, her face contorted into one of pure awe.

A little girl ran up and embraced her, silent tears crawling down the grime of her face. Yang buried a kiss into the crown of her head, beaming despite the tortuous agony that filled every breath. The girl was mumbling something as she buried her face into her tunic, trying not to look at the fresh carnage or the twisted helmet that hung at her belt.

"Shh. Don't look. It's okay. It'll be okay." She escorted the child back to her parents, who welcomed her with open arms. They thanked Yang with smoke-charred throats and reverant, mumbled Ranshan.

As they left the square and the din of unrestrained battle grew red and furious, Amat sidled up next to Yang, borrowed lasgun in hand. The buildings around them were unburnt, but bore an unpleasant aura. Her head pounded once more.

"I'm sure our Lady could have her personal medics attend to that," he said, nodding at her broken ribs. Yang waved him off. "You're dragging your sword, Yang." Looking down, she saw he was right. An erratic black line trailed her, etched into the street.

"Look man, I appreciate the concern. I really do. But I'm going back to my Company. I've lived through worse. Much worse, in fact."

"Are you certain?"

"Sure as shit, my friend. Here," she said, digging around the interior of her flak armor. When she removed her hand, two fingers held a folded piece of paper. Its edges were burnt, and frayed, but it was readable.

"See this, Amat?" He nodded. "A kid wrote this. She's probably dead now. But-" She sucked in a breath through her teeth as another dagger of pain needled her lungs. "But at the same time, it coulda been her, the one over there," she said, pointing at the little girl that she'd embraced. "I can tell escorting civilians isn't really your deal. That's fine. Just… here." She gave him the paper, tucking it into an empty shell-slot. "These people need us. Broken ribs or not, if I'm the only thing that stands between them and death, you can be damn sure I won't be anywhere else." A chuckle.

"I expected as much," he replied. His hand fell over the prayer paper, but did not remove it.

"Damn right. You can't deny it feels good though." She gave him a ready grin. "Playing hero's always fun."

"I…" he stopped. "Hm."

"Man, what's up with you?" She asked, trying to smile. "One second, you're right there with me, the next you're all tongue-tied." Amat did not reply. "Yeah, like that." she said, resting her arm over his neck, as much for support as camaraderie. Talking was growing difficult. "Come on, I'm not that intimidating, am I?" He stiffened under her touch, and she could feel his uneasiness as it rumbled through his broad shoulders. "Give me a break here, Amat. Just cause I'm not running away doesn't mean I'm not in a lot of pain."

He obliged, shifting to accommodate her weight. "Better?"

"A little."

Thirty minutes later, they emerged from their alley, finding themselves facing a squad of shaking Woadians. They hefted their lasguns with trembling hands, bellowing challenges. Their warpaint was thin and smeared with sweat, and many bore thinly-wrapped wounds.

"Easy, boys." Yang said, coughing more blood into a balled fist. "We're friendly. Got some civvies in tow too." They shuffled forward, hesitant and cowering before the lasguns of the 111th.

"Name and rank?" Their sergeant said.

"Assault Trooper Yang Xiao Long. Gamma Platoon, First Company. Oh, and the Lady Inquisitor's Representative," she added with a grin. That shifted them into high gear. They parted to let her group through. "I got a present for you guys too." She displayed the helmet to them, earning awe-struck and open-mouthed stares, which delighted her to no end. She waved their questions away, before the last of the refugees shuffled past, each one whimpering words of thanks as they passed. "I promise you, it wasn't anything writing home about." They looked dissatisfied with this, but played along for now. "Who are you guys with?"

"I'm Sergeant Fylkyr Dugridsson. We're from Harja Platoon, Second Company."

"You don't look too well, Sarge." Fylkyr grunted, laying his lasgun against his shoulder as he appraised Amat with suspicious eyes.

"Understatement of the Emperor-damned millennium, Trooper. We're holding, but barely. Getting fucked sideways here." He waved them forward, bringing them into view of the main street that led to the Citadel. Limping out into the moonlight glare, Yang's jaw hung open.

The widened paved channel was choked with bodies. The battlefield smell here was horrid, a cloying reek that turned her stomach six times over. Woadians and the Shao-la guard formed a defensive salient against the encroaching Yǒng-lo, with the guardsmen pouring the last of their batteries over the heads of shield-locked Ranshan troops. Two more Elodian tanks were burning, blackened steel shooting up flames. The rest were retreating into the Citadel gates, engines growling and cannons blaring.

Between the brunt of the battle and the Citadel walls, a steady stream of civilians made for safety, mixed with the walking wounded and non-combat personnel. The street was full of wailing and weeping, accompanied by screaming lasguns and the rattling of steel. A Valkyrie swept low, spitting death as it swerved around smoking rockets.

It was controlled chaos, and all their lives hung on a thread. Yang stumbled forward, realizing that Sergeant Fylkyr and his squad were one of the many teams that blocked off the side streets, keeping them secure to the best of their ability.

_If those traitor marines had managed to reach here…_ she shuddered to imagine the carnage. _Better hope there aren't any more waiting in the wings._

"You alright?" Amat asked, turning to face her, head cocked in curiosity.

"Yeah. I think this is where we part ways. We should be able to make it back to our unit from here." The assassin nodded, bowing down to return her arm to her side. "We make a pretty good team, you know. And I wasn't joking about that game. If we make it out of this city, come find me." She said, offering her hand. He took it with a hint of trepidation, and was careful not to disturb her wound too much. Yang giggled a bit at his hesitation, before realizing that giggling hurt like a motherfucker.

They waved goodbye. Turning on her heel, she made to collect Mael. He was saying his farewells to Soo by the gates.

"Hey man." She said, getting his attention. _In My Spirit_ roared, sprouting a plume of flame and broken bodies. Mael cringed, and Soo yelped, burying her face in his chest. "Hey. We gotta get back to Gamma." He considered this for a moment, eyes darting, frown deepening. "Sorry." Sighing, he took ahold of Soo's shoulders, kissing her deeply.

Breaking apart a few seconds later, Mael gestured towards the Citadel. The native woman understood, nodding as she wiped her tears away. She said something in Ranshan before disappearing into the stream of humanity.

"She'll be okay, man." Yang said, patting his shoulder. "Hell, that was so sickeningly cute, It's my new personal mission to get her out unscathed." Mael made a sad, noiseless chuckle. "Now come on, let's go find our friends."

* * *

Emerging from within the Citadel's keep, the Lady Inquisitor assessed the siege. From here, the entirety of Shao-la was visible, laid out for her in all its immolated beauty. Her gauntleted hands wrapped tight around the stone banister, sending cracks spiraling across its face. She had commanded the defenses as best she could. Her Woadians were holding admirably, but it was only a matter of time before they were overrun. Her duster flapped in the wind, carrying with it the scent of smoke and death.

She began the evacuation of her most critical personnel an hour ago. Taki, Calista, and Wind-Through-The-Valley were headed into orbit, reeling from the sheer crush of warp-craft that transpired tonight. Ira was still commanding the defenses in her stead, but soon the shuttle would return, and he would be on it. Amat too, once he could be found. After trying his channel and receiving nothing but static, she worried for his well-being.

Behind her, kasrkin kept their distance, still recovering from the psychic lashing she had unleashed in her boundless rage. _Childish and irresponsible_. In the hours since she discovered the treachery, she'd sent prayer after prayer that the image of Ruby in the traitor's head was one conjured from own foolishness. _If Yang knew what transpired…_

She would protest the evacuation. That was something the Lady Inquisitor was assured of. Even now, a stream of brown-clad civilians filtered into the expansive Citadel courtyards. Her own order, useless though it was. Yang would have to be recovered before the bombardment. She was more valuable than any other member of her retinue, and she must be spared from the coming holocaust. _Forcefully, if I must. _She sighed. _I probably will._

"Damn it all," she murmured. Once more, she was forced to scour a world of taint. Total exterminatus wasn't required, but having to turn _The Scythe of Morning_ on civilians… it never got easier. It made her sick.

_And_ _Emperor forbid the day I grow accustomed to it_, she thought, watching the final gasping breaths of a doomed city.

* * *

**A/N: This spells the beginning of the end for Shao-la... I hope you guys enjoyed! As always, I love to hear your guys' feedback, so let me know what you thought! So far the response you guys have given me has been incrdible. I'm wowed by the amount of attention this has gotten. Seriously. This is the top reviewed non-anime RWBY crossover. I'm... wow. You guys are the best. :)**

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**Nemris: I'm glad you like him! He's grown on me a lot as well!**

**Dom380: I guess you'll have to wait and find out!**

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**DanAbnettFan1997: Uh, I meant that "Amat" is his Cognomen-Designate... not supposed be his title or anything... oops!**

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* * *

**Again, you guys are just incredible. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You all are the reason this fic is still afloat! :D**


	30. The Emperor Protects

**A/N: Who's ready for some staggering death tolls? I am! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 29: The Emperor Protects**

_"His reach? Infinite. His glory? Invincible." - Inquisitor Lord Kairos_

Darron primed his hellgun, his hands shaking from the psychic assault he'd suffered a few hours ago. "Damn it," he whispered, attempting to will them into stillness. He'd spent more than half his life in service to the Lady Inquisitor, and he counted himself as one of the most fortunate soldiers in the Imperium. He even had a wife, the same woman who'd caught his eye in basic training thirty-six years ago. Not one day went by where he didn't thank the Emperor for his station. Not one day went by where fear ruled him. He'd fought the warp for his entire life, shielded against its touch by contempt and the simple joys of love and service. But now…

Now he felt fear. Fear that stemmed from an uncomfortable source: his Lady. Sure, the Inquisitor had been intimidating at first, and he resented her at first for spiriting him away from Cadia. He'd come around. They all had, and in short order.

Darron crawled through snowdrifts before, fought in the stillness of space, but neither could compare to the touch of his Lady's mind when she let its powers loose. It was like being swallowed in blizzard, robbed of all thoughts except fear. Fear of death. Fear of the _cold_. Psykers are a breed he would never understand, but after twenty years of service, the Lady Inquisitor had earned his respect. His loyalty. Seeing her unbound was… it was almost mythical. _What roused her to such anger?_

Chera was shaking too, blue lips quivering as she slid her helmet on. His kasrkin were preparing for battle. Although they'd be extracted along with the Inquisitor, no precautions were unwarranted.

"You okay, babe?" He asked.

"Y-yeah." She sniffed, shivering under her armor. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm good," he said. By the Emperor, he still felt cold. It made his mind roil, made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. A red woman flickered through his mind, smiling, smiling, smiling. "Emperor," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Third time in the past hour.

"Darron…"

"I'm fine," he snapped, recoiling when he saw the look on his wife's face. _I'm sorry._

"Yeah, you better be. Dick," she said, sniffing again.

"I'm… yeah." When they'd faced the perils of the warp, it never felt like this. There'd always been a buffer in place, distanced by a hellgun and years spent reciting litanies of hate. To have such rancor spilling from their Lady…

" Darron, do you see… you know…" she started, looking for the right words. "Are you seeing her?"

"What? She's right there," he replied, jerking his thumb at the Inquisitor's place on the balcony. She hadn't moved in hours. Chera shook her head.

"No. The… the _red_ woman."

"I… yeah." Darron said. His wife touched her shoulder.

"She makes me sad. Who is she? Fuck. My head hurts," Chera said. Darron shook his head, closing her up in a quick embrace.

"Don't think about it. Whoever she is… _whatever_ she is, it can't be a good thing."

"Right. Right. Let's get everyone together."

Darron nodded, activating his hellgun. It gave a low whine, ready to kill. In his opinion, the strangeness started with Trooper Yang Xiao Long. Everything about that woman screamed wrongness. A fair-skinned, violet-eyed woman among ten thousand unlike her in every way. Where they were stocky, she was lean. Where they wore patronymic names with pride, hers was more akin to the names they found in Shao-la.

Yang was no more Woadian than himself. In fact, she looked every inch a Cadian. Josephus, the King, his Lady's rage, and now this Red Woman… it all seemed to stem from this golden-haired Trooper.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor clicked her inferno pistol on, strapping it into her thigh holster with a soft hiss of leather. Before departing, she would extract as many Woadians as possible. She sighed. It was likely that Yang would never speak to her again. A shame, but if she could not face the reality of the Imperium, that was not her concern.

Right now, her mind focused upon the small, unassuming tome tucked away in her duster. It was so precious, Josephus would commit his Silverhearts, a daemon, and difficult spell-weaving to obtain it. But it was not critical enough to be present himself… which meant the book was not his end goal.

She skimmed it again. The book was clean of taint. Why Josephus wanted it was more confounding than his actions. It was not written in any form of gothic, high or low. It had diagrams aplenty, but they were hastily drawn and scribbled. It appeared to be little more than a journal of sorts.

"My Lady? Are we ready to depart?" The voice was Ira's, weary and haggard. She faced him, and found him soaked with blood, the royal red mechanicus robes drinking up heretical ichor. Even without straining her mind, she found frustration and anger poured from within him.

"Ira. Take a breath."

"My La-"

"That's an order, Ira," The Lady Inquisitor demanded. He complied, doing his best to compose himself. "For one birthed from the skitarii, you are uncommonly quick to rile." He nodded, his head bowing and spilling red hair down the front of his battle-fatigued robes.

"My Lady would not have selected me were I among my more… common brethren," he replied.

"Then what troubles you so?" _How pathetic that I should ask such a thing in my state._

"Shao-la. I… I obeyed you, my Lady. I sold this city street-by-street, inch by bloody inch. Leaving it… _abandoning _it sours my stomach."

"As it should," she said, stalking past him and gesturing her retinue to follow. "But never let the bigger picture escape you. Carry the burden in your mind, and exact your vengeance the next time you are able." The crash of cannon accentuated her point. Leaving the armor would be a blow to her forces, but a necessary one.

"Forgive me my Lady, but after awhile…"

"Yes. It's more difficult than you could possibly comprehend." Behind her, Chera rubbed her temples. "But remember…"

"I am not like my brethren," he answered. She nodded. As they descended the endless steps, a thought struck her.

"How is your binary?"

"The language of the Mechanicus does not come as easily to me as it does the techpriests. I lack the modifications necessary to speak it well." He stopped, considering. "I rejected many of the implants... _suggested_ to me."

"I am aware, Ira. But can you interpret it?" She asked. He nodded, his frustration replaced with confusion. To answer him, she gave him the red book. "Does this make any sense to you?" He parsed the pages, his face scrunched up as his subroutines compiled an answer.

"No. But I recognize it." He grinned, curiosity pushing away his fatigue. "This is an outdated form of coded binary. It… it's hard to explain in terms of spoken language." He flipped a page over, studying it. Pointing to a string of digits and illegible scrawlings, his tongue ran over his lips. "One could say it's like reading High Gothic for the first time after only reading Low."

"And Magos Tyrham?" The Lady Inquisitor said. Even in defeat, a glimmer of hope shone through.

"My Lady, I guarantee that he could make sense of this," Ira replied, realizing the same thing. "Although… why this book? How did you come across it?" The Lady Inquisitor scowled, recalling the fallen King.

"It matters not. I know that Josephus sought it, so we must do everything in our power to deny him his prize. Now that we possess it, we can only hope his plans languish." The Inquisitorial retinue emerged from the keep. Screams, shouts, and the roaring chorus of war sounded below them. Around them, the Citadel grounds were packed with refugees, wounded Woadians, and waist-high piles of broken bodies. She ignored the smell. It was one she had grown accustomed to years ago.

Retrieving the thin red book from Ira, she returned it to its place in her duster. Either through some laughing cosmic coincidence or by the will of the Emperor, the forge-world of Uriel beckoned her once more. As the lights of landing craft spilled out from between the red moons of Ranshu, she went to her duty.

Myrtenaster awaited her.

* * *

The Citadel of Totha's Radiance stood against wave after wave of heretics, weathering their assaults as a rock weathers the storm. Yang ducked as _Our Lady's Fist_ bellowed, throwing her hands over her ears. The cannon round soared over her head, a pitched whistle that grew into a throaty roar as it ripped past her.

"Ng!" Mael shouted. "Ng, ng!"

"I hear ya buddy," Yang said, drawing her power sword. They continued wading through the crowd, trying to find First Company. Cries in Ranshan echoed across the streets, a constant swell of panicked screaming. It was madness.

A heretic war-horn sounded, followed by demented war-cries. Thousands of Yǒng-lo surged forward, hurling themselves onto a phalanx of spears. They died in droves, snarls on their green and twisted lips. The loyalists recoiled against the weight of the assault, pushed back by the tide of muscle and armor. Yang shuddered at the sight. They were so willing to throw their lives away, and in such a brutal and careless manner.

Woadians poured lasbolts on the clogged pack of warriors, burying red lances of light into the swelling crowd from the tops of buildings and scaffolding. It wasn't enough. Mael's brow furrowed, and he ran a hand through his milky hair.

"She'll be okay," Yang said, feeling like she was lying through her teeth. "Hey!" She cried, pulling aside a wounded member of Second Company. "Where's Captain Lyrasson? First Company?" The man looked at her blankly, blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around his head. "First Company?" She repeated, to no effect. He kept walking, one among many others. A voice rang out above the clamor.

"Looking for us, Trooper?"

Yang spun to find Jorvis staring at her with his metal eye. His arm was bound in a sling, and a medic stood at his side. He waved her over, grimacing.

"Sarge!" As they neared, they found the rest of Squad F restocking as best they could behind a set of paltry sandbags.

"Mind tellin' me where the fuck you've been?" He growled. Ros gave a whoop of glee when she saw Yang, barreling forward to embrace her in a crushing hug.

"Ros… Ros!" Yang shouted, pushing her away. She coughed blood again, smearing the front of her charred-black flak armor with streaks of red. "Watch the ribs Ros," she said, trying to grin.

"Oh Emperor! I'm sorry, Yang!"

"You're fine! I'll live. Look who I found skulking around," she said, clapping Mael on the back. Her comrades gave a roar of approval as the wounded man rejoined them. He gave them all a sheepish smile. Wincing, Yang turned to her sergeant. "Hey Sarge, mind if I borrow your medic for a bit?"

He acquiesced, waving the man away from his arm. Yang pulled her tunic away from her side, revealing a flank that was completely swollen, colored a pounding, blackened purple.

"Holy Terra." Caolin whispered.

"I'll be fine." Yang said. She grimaced as the medic stuck a needle into her neck. A warm sensation flowed through her, damming up the flood of pain that pulsed from her ribs. She sighed in relief, leaning against the stretch of sandbags. "Oh shit, almost forgot! Check this out!" Spinning around, she displayed the traitor's helmet, earning her a few shocked gasps that she drank like fine wine.

"Is that…?" Caolin asked, his hand resting on the grit-stained blue of the sneering helm.

"Damn skippy, son," Yang replied with a grin. _Painkillers are nice_. "I had to ask reallllllly nice for it." She wiped a bit of cracking blue blood off Ember Celica. Beside her, even the medic stopped rustling through his medical equipment. His eyes were wide open.

"What… what are you?" Ros asked, able to meet neither Yang's gaze nor the helmet's. Throwing an arm around her friend, she drew her into a hug and patted her flak armor.

"I'm a huntress, Ros! Unlike you scrubs, I had a bit of training before I joined the Guard!" Yang laughed, but no one joined her. "C'mon, guys, what's with you?" Taking the twisted helm, she danced it in front of her face, lowering her voice in mockery. "Ah-yup, Captain Fatass coming through, turns out I had to fight Woadians, so I went ahead and died to spare 'em the trouble!" That got a few laughs out of them, and even Ros rolled her eyes.

"We're blessed to have you, Yang," Theni said, his eyes red-stained and weary. Caolin nodded, clapping her on the back. Ros returned her hug too, whispering a teary thank-you into her ear. Yang patted her helmet.

"Anytime, Ros."

"We'll suck each other's dicks later, Gamma," Jorvis spat, leaning on his chainsword as he rose to his feet. "We've got a long ways to go before we're off this rock. Trooper Yang can get her medal later. Right now, we have heretics to worry about." Most of the platoon obeyed, but even the harsh words of their Sergeant couldn't tear their eyes away from her trophy.

Catching her breath, Yang rested against the sandbags, her arm slumping over the helmet like a fashionable armrest. Shao-la was a total shitshow. She'd taken too long to get back to her unit.

"So Ros, what's the plan? How long we holding here?" Yang asked, fearing the answer she knew was coming. Readjusting her helmet, Ros ducked down next to her, the butt of her lasgun planted on the cobblestone.

"Well, First Company made it through okay, but we're to hold this position and 'await further orders'. Most of the regiment is folding back into the Citadel…And no one knows for sure, but I'd bet my ass we're getting extracted." Ember Celica smashed into the road, splintering the cobblestone and startling her comrades.

"Fuck!" Yang cried, the joy of her 'victory lap' extinguished. Extraction meant one thing - Exterminatus. _Butchery_, she thought, her face twisted up into a cruel snarl. _I should have known Weiss would resort to this._ _Fucking monster._

"We have to," Ros whispered. Looking up at her friend, Yang saw nothing but quiet desperation. Her eyes were dry and red-rimmed, saddled with dark bags. Her red hair was stringy and matted with sweat, spilling out from under her helmet in filthy, matted strands. Although Yang had raised her spirits, she was at the end of her rope. They all were. The word 'coward' crossed her mind before she shook it away.

Yang wanted to scream. Scream in pain, in frustration, at the heretics, scream at the Imperium and this horrible galaxy until the Emperor himself heard her. Glaring at the encroaching battle-lines, she spat a curse onto the stone street instead.

"It's not right," she mumbled. Dragging those poor civilians through the streets, telling herself she was saving them. For what? Clumping them up so Weiss - _her friend_ \- could wipe them from existence?

She looked over Squad F. Some were praying, some prepared themselves for duty. Others sat in silence, savoring the comfort of friends and comrades. For a brief, traitorous moment, she realized wanting to stay was selfish. Yang felt disgusted. Used. Dirty. If they stayed behind, it would mean their deaths, victims to her self-aggrandising.

"Yang…" Ros asked, reaching for the shoulder where her glyphs lay. "You okay?" _And that's the other thing. Ros._ Her promise. _Fuck._

"I'm… well... " 'No,' She wanted to say. "Yeah," she said.

"Praise the Emperor." Asgeg whispered. "Look at your armor. What the hell happened back there?" Yang checked the battery on her lasgun, tapping the bottom on the traitor's helmet.

"I killed some traitor marines," she said through gritted teeth. "But what about you guys? Everyone make it back okay?" They didn't answer at first, still shocked by her dismissive attitude. Ros avoided the question, choosing to look out over the battleground instead. "C'mon guys, now I'm worried."

"Well," Jorvis said, a cold smile crawling across his lips, "Commissar Eberil mistook the Corporal's tactical withdrawal for cowardice. Unfortunately, his life was claimed by a... heretic sniper shortly thereafter." Caolin gave the Sergeant a wide grin, who reprimanded him with a sharp blow to his helmet. "Knock that shit off, Trooper."

"Yes sir," he said, gulping.

"Wait, you didn't-" Yang gave a gasp as the medic returned from searching his kit and stuck a cold needle into her flank.

"Easy there, Trooper," he said, pulling the injector's trigger. "You've probably punctured a lung. This is a coagulant, and it'll keep 'em from filling with blood."

"Sounds… sounds good to me." Painkillers surged through her once more, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Shaking her head, she focused on the battle in front of her, bringing her vision into sharp focus. Her aura pushed against the worst of the drug's effects, keeping her lucid as she stood.

"Hey," the medic protested, "take it easy." Yang waved him off.

"I'll live."

"Sit down, Halvar. She dealt with a squad of traitor marines, I doubt some broken ribs are gonna take her out." Ros said, trying to smile. Her lips wore a hard edge, and her eyes were full of questions.

"Alright, that's the word." Kalla shouted, putting down the vox-receiver. "We're pulling back to the Citadel." A few sighs of relief sounded through Gamma, and they prepared a withdrawal. Yang couldn't blame them, but the taste of bile beat back the dulling swell of medication, turning her stomach.

"Fuck," she said, surveying the battlefield once more. _I wasn't sure if she was going to do it, but it looks like I'll have to persuade her. _She stood. Even in her state, she'd make Weiss see sense. As for her friends, they would understand. If they fall, it would be protecting innocents, a better death than any guardsman could ask for. _And no matter what happens, I won't let them get Ros. We'll see the dawn, even if I have to cut my way through a legion of traitor marines._

An explosion ripped through the loyalists' phalanx, bathing the street in a gout of flame and shredded corpses. The Yǒng-lo burst forward, salivating with rapturous glee that the forest of pikes was felled.

"Fuck!" Yang shouted. Stripped of their formation, packets of resistance were torn apart by the encroaching heretics...literally. Arms, heads and entrails rolled across the streets as wicked blades found purchase amongst the faithful.

"INCOMING!" She bellowed, squeezing off shots into the horde. Any remaining thoughts of abandoned the city left her. Gamma platoon turned on their heels, burying lasbolts into the tsunami of steel that threatened to swallow them. As before, it did nothing. Unconcerned by death, the enemy stormed onwards, crawling over bodies by the score.

"Ros…" Caolin said, throat working. His long-las kicked, melting through two of the warriors. Yang looked over to her red-headed friend. Her first real friend in the galaxy. She opened her mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.

A swarm of howling engines ripped across Shao-la, deafening in their passing. Triumphant, orchestral music boomed from colossal vox-speakers, crushing the panicked screams of the dying underneath the heel of ear-splitting strings.

"What… what's that?" Theni asked, his mouth hanging open. Yang couldn't answer him.

"Praise the Emperor." Ros whispered.

A salvo of fire crashed into the heretics, accompanied by clattering gales of bolter-fire. Rockets fell like rain, each spewing trails of smoke that birthed titanic pillars of flame. A voice filled the night sky, a storm-caller's thunderous roar.

"We are the instruments of His will!" The response was uproarious, and scorching, hate-fuelled condemnations echoed across Shao-la.

"WE ARE HIS WRATH AND CLEANSING FLAME."

"We are the voice of His contempt!"

"LONG MAY IT ECHO ACROSS THE GALAXY."

"We are the herald of His Judgement!"

"AND WITH OUR COMING, THE ARCH-FOE WILL KNOW FEAR."

"MY SISTERS," the first voice boomed, "I..._AM_... _**ANGRY**_!"

Another chorus of explosions sundered the heretics apart, and a squadron of hulking fliers swept low to the ground, trailed by clouds of dust and a furious wind. Yang watched them, stunned into silence by the gut-wrenching force. Wheeling around, they stopped just yards before Gamma platoon.

"Now go!" The vox speakers boomed, "and leave _none_ alive!" Out of the ornamented holds spewed forth a host of women, clad in magnificent armor. Alabaster ceramite plates adorned them all, framed in black robes and holy seals.

They advanced as one, jet-wash buffeting the streets without mercy. Their leader strode forward with confidence and poise. Her silver-black hair framed a brutally scarred and weathered face, her burnt lips curled into an imperious sneer. An enormous chainsword rested against her ancient armor, which held a shining silver halo over her head. She stared down the army of heretics, cowing them under her indomitable will. With a shouted command, her followers surged forward.

Yang could only watch as they flew past, armor whirring with impossible speed. They issued forth a hail of firepower, igniting the streets with a hail of bolter shells and the bellowing of flamers. Tracers danced and whickered along the walls, streaks of holy white light that burst into cleansing fire. Passing the platoon, the largest woman Yang had ever seen stopped briefly to extend a hand to her. Emblazoned on her shoulder was a white rose, scarred from constant battles.

"Come with us, loyal guardsman," she said, the low thrum of her voice tempered with a soft simplicity. Yang met her hand, not realizing she was sitting. "We have work to do." Returning her to her feet, the woman continued onward, bearing aloft a twin-linked heavy bolter. It belched death, spewing out hundreds of rounds from a titanic drum.

"Onwards, Sisters!" The leader bellowed. They began a hymn, one that swelled louder than any Yǒng, one that reached to the moons with its intensity. "The Emperor Protects!"

"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" They echoed.

The heretics broke before the weight of reinforcements, scattering into the ruins of Shao-la. Yang tried to join the charge, limping alongside her new comrades. Shouting and rejoicing with glee, weeping Ranshans and joyous Woadians assisted them, ferreting out the Yǒng-lo as they scrambled away in fear.

At the head of it all was the haloed woman, swinging her enormous chainsword around like a child's toy. It tore through the cultists with ease, ripping dozens apart with each mighty swing. None could stand against her. Her scars twisted her lips into a permanent grimace of disgust, and she waded into the breaking enemy lines with a calm, cold fury.

The bulking fliers made another pass, sending up clouds of roiling flame. Each blast killed hundreds, starting fires where the heretic siege engines could not. Snarling, the haloed woman grabbed ahold of a heretic, seizing his leg as he attempted to scramble inside a burning building. She smashed him across the cobblestone, roaring as she did so.

"Suffer the Emperor's wrath!" She cried, a voice that carried over the thousands of screams. Yang stumbled forward, the pain of her wound dulled by drugs and the rush of victory. With a eager hum, her power sword cut through a heretic's shield before cleaving him in two. Around her, Gamma platoon marched forward, their progress unimpeded by the hundreds of twisted corpses below them.

"Onwards, my sisters!" The haloed woman cried, "Cut them down!" They obeyed, unleashing a punishing salvo of bolter fire. Her comrades swarmed forward, outpacing the guardsmen with ease. Infernos issued forth from a crowd of flamers, torching heretics and Shao-la alike.

Corralled and confused by the retreat, thousands of Yǒng-lo died in the span of seconds, bathing in the hurricane of flame and consigning their souls to their twisted masters. Blackened and burnt, their bodies crumbled to ash as the counter-attack stormed forward.

Yang came upon one half-alive heretic, crushing his head against the curb with a stomp of her boot. She ignored the pious, rapturous song that echoed through the collapsing streets. Against all hope, Ranshu would live to see the dawn, and the Inquisitor would be forced to eat her words.

Laughing, her thoughts faded as she fell into the routine of killing.

* * *

**A/N: Y'ALL FORGOT ABOUT THE SISTERS! Seriously, you guys haven't mentioned them at _all,_ so I was too happy to give them an awesome introduction! :D I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (oh, and if you don't listen to Ride of the Valkyries while you read it, you're doing yourself a _great_ disservice). **

**Anyway, as always, please let me know what you thought! Your reviews make me so happy! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: I bet you weren't expecting an answer so soon! XD**

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**OBSERVER01: I tricked you! :D**

**Mintskittle: Yup, you nailed it! (About the injury, at least) Looks like Weiss dodged a big bullet there.**

**DoomLich: Uriel awaits!**

**Darkerpaths: Yeah, it's a side effect of things needing to happen at certain times. Hopefully it didn't grate too badly!**

**Sigurd: I mean... it'd _probably_ work. XD**

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* * *

**You guys are the best! I mean that! :D**


	31. Departure

**A/N: Enjoy, everyone! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 30: Departure**

"_Though our city came close to ruin and despair, we must always recall the miracles its destruction wrought, the glories done in its defense." - The Planetary Governor of Ranshu, King Shuryan._

It took an hour to purge Shao-la, an hour soaked in blood and fire. When Yang stood below the ruined gatehouse, she did so before a mountain of corpses, each one blackened and broken. Before her, the remnants of the Yǒng-lo fled into the night, hounded by a torrent of firepower and a squadron of heavy fliers. Bellowing her victory, Yang raised her cracking blue sword in triumph. An open, honest grin reached her ears. Victory. _Real, honest victory!_

"The Emperor protects!" Ros cried, tears of joy washing away the blood that soaked them both to the bone. None of it was theirs.

"THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!" The soldiers replied, each of them beaming. A warhorn sounded over the hills, and Yang snapped around to face it. In the distance, a crowd of soldiers emerged from a forest, mounted on a host of lizard-creatures. Raising their banners high and chanting a loyalist Yǒng, they charged forward, bladed lances leveled. Scything through the retreating heretics, they ground the last of the enemy legion into meat.

Caolin clambered over Yang's corpse-pile to clap her on the back.

"They showed up in the nick of time, huh?" He asked, his grin wide and ready.

"They certainly could have come earlier," Yang replied, finding a weariness was stealing itself upon her. Her limbs felt like they'd been attached with staples, and they hung wearily at her sides.

"Hey," Ros said, "take it easy." She made her taller friend sit, bringing her down to rest on the cobblestone. "We should have left you back with Mael." Their friend had swayed and collapsed a short while ago, still suffering from his wound. Now, he rested among the ruins of Shao-la, a medic at his side.

The jet-wash of Weiss' Valkyrie buffeted them, touching down just beyond the walls of Shao-la. When the Lady Inquisitor emerged, Yang knew something was wrong. Her shoulders hung low, her eyes hid under the brim of her hat, and blood ran down her chin as it flowed from her lip. Her anger at Weiss' decision to destroy Shao-la faltered, but still sat in her gut, burning like smoldering embers.

Paying no heed to her disheveled state, the Woadians cheered her arrival, throwing their arms up in celebration.

"Hail!" They cried. "Hail the Lady Inquisitor!" Limping forward, Yang went to join her. Making another pass, the fliers raked the last few heretics with bolter fire. The impacts shook the earth with their intensity, sending up columns of mud and gore.

"Weiss, what's-" The Lady Inquisitor cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"We have no time, so listen up." She said, her blue eyes hard and unyielding. "Those women that just arrived?" They were marching towards them now, near fifty women marching in perfect lock-step. They were spattered with blood, and closing fast. "They are the Adeptus Sororitas - the Sisters of Battle. They are unyielding, and are zealous beyond your imagination. Keep a civil tongue, and show not one whit of your aura."

Taken aback by her brusque tone, Yang frowned, before nodding hesitantly. She still wanted to wring her neck, but there was a raw pain hanging from the Inquisitor's pauldrons. "You got it, Weiss."

"Do not call me that," She snapped, before catching herself, resting a face in her palm. "I am… I'm sorry. There was an incident in the Citadel. We need to speak later." The urgency in her voice caught Yang's interest. Never before had Weiss -the Lady Inquisitor- shown such uneasiness. "You are wounded." Yang shook her head before a stab of pain wracked her, causing her to cough blood onto her burnt armor.

"Nope. I'm one hundred percent." There was a moment of silence as Weiss looked at her in disbelief before shaking her head.

"Emperor, you're stubborn." She turned to her kasrkin, who had assembled behind her. Ira was there as well, hands clasped behind his back. "Loni, look over my Representative. I must speak with my Chamber Militant." One of the masked guards saluted, marching over to administer aid.

"The Lady Inquisitor!" The haloed woman boomed, the vox-crackle of her voice resounding off the shattered walls of Shao-la. "We are the Sisters of the Sacred Rose, serving the banner of the storied 'Thanatos' Mission. We are fifty-five sisters strong, ready to serve." The woman knelt before Weiss, planting her two-handed chainsword in the earth.

"Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al-Ibanhi." The Inquisitor said. "Your reputation precedes you. I thank you for answering my call." Standing, the woman barked an order to her subordinates, and they stood at ease, bloodied black robes fluttering in the wind.

"It is my duty, Lady. Although I wish I did not have to chase you across the Imperium," The Palatine replied.

"Unavoidable circumstances," the Inquisitor said, her voice terse and wary. Looking beyond the taller woman, she examined the rest of the Mission. "Only fifty-five sisters? I asked for more."

"Fifty-five is all we could spare. The Black Crusade has called most of our Sisters to Cadia, where the fighting is the thickest." Eyeing Yang, she scoffed. "Although I can clearly see your need. Upjumped provincial guardsmen will not serve you as well in the days to come." Yang made to stand, but Loni's fingers bit into her collarbone, seating her with their iron grip. Grumbling, she accepted the Cadian's aid. _These 'Sisters of Battle' are already pissing me off._

"The Woadians have served me loyally." Weiss countered. "With some armor acquired at Primum Mobilus, they managed to slay a daemon." This sent a greying eyebrow skyward.

"Truly? Well, perhaps they'll be of some use in cleansing the rest of this corrupted planet."

"Unnecessary. The rot here has been purged. Though it will take many years, the city will recover. Its great walls will stand whole once more."

"Foolishness." Naja spat, eyeing the ragged remnants of Shao-la's soldiery. "It would be better to burn it whole, the Archives included." Yang growled at this before Loni forced her to sit once more. The Inquisitor's brow twitched, but she remained unfazed by the woman's words.

However, seeing Weiss defend the city buried most of her residual anger towards her old friend. She remembered the words she said when they reunited: 'Each decision I make is weighed against more lives than Remnant could ever hope to hold. None of them are easy. None of them wasteful'. Though the extremes still infuriated her, it was reassuring to see there was a measure of Weiss left within the the Lady Inquisitor.

"You'll do no such thing. I've voiced my intentions regarding this planet, and I will accept no alternatives." Heaving her enormous pauldrons into a shrug, the Sister of Battle considered her words.

"I only wish to offer my advice. You are a young and untried witch, capable though you may be. I am a hundred years old, and I was inducted into the Orders Militant when you were still unborn." Yang suppressed the urge to scoff at the woman's blustering. Weiss was… less amused.

"Hold your tongue, Palatine!" She spat. "I speak with the voice of the Emperor. I have had my patience tried once today, and you would _not_ see it pushed any further." Yang's amusement vanished in a moment, replaced with a cold and unfeeling ache. The seething pain in her ribs vanished, replaced with a pounding headache and rose petals that danced across her vision. "I am to be obeyed, in all things, at _all_ times. I may be touched with the warp, but I will tolerate no further outbursts from you." Taken aback by the viciousness of her reprisal, Naja bowed her head, a bead of sweat running down her scarred face.

"Of course, my Lady."

"Now board your Thunderhawks. We are departing in several hours, and we must make all available haste. Begone."

Bowing, the Palatine turned to face her sisters. With a few shouted words, they dispersed into their fliers. A pair of sisters welcomed their leader back, wielding a matched set of heavy flamers. The colossal sister stood near the Palatine as well, hefting her enormous weapon in her wide arms. Yang watched them go.

"You've really fucked yourself up, kid," Loni said, flipping her mask up. She was an older woman, the tell-tale mark of a lasburn marring the right side of her face. Yang made to reply, before the woman gave her a piercing, purple stare. "Don't bother. That's a serious wound you have. And judging on where you are, you've been walking on it for too long. It's the work of the Emperor that you're still alive." She crouched down to face Yang eye-to-eye. My auspex shows massive internal damage, far beyond what a conscious person should be able to stand."

"Well doc, when you put it like that…." Yang said, trying to smile. "Give me some more painkillers and I'll be good to go." Loni only scoffed before jamming an injector into her neck. "Gah!" She cried, trying to slap away the medic's efforts. It was no use. Her arms felt heavier than lead, and the night grew darker, inch by inch. "Not… not cool, man." As the ground rushed up to meet her, she welcomed its embrace, finally free of the constant, needling pain.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor watched her Representative collapse. Any other day, her iron-willed stubbornness would have brought a smile to her face. But she could not find one today. After all that happened, she had the misfortune of receiving al'Ibanhi as the commander of her Chamber Militant… already, the woman had been making waves across the Order of the Sacred Rose for her temperament. Snarling, she watched them board their craft. _She's isn't much more than_ _a bitchy little snot_. She spat. Turning, she ordered the Woadian medics to care for Yang. Gathering her kasrkin, she boarded her Valkyrie. The clock was ticking on Cadia… on Josephus… _on_ _Ruby_.

_Saying there is no time to waste implies there is time in the first place._ Her fingers searched the inside of her duster, reaching for the wine she knew was no longer there. Returning empty handed, she let loose a long sigh. Stringy and matted with sweat, her snow-white hair spooled in her gauntleted hands.

_Emperor, grant me guidance. Lend me strength. _She thought of the relic she liberated from Ezzelino's grasp, praying that its holy aura would guard her against uncertainty_. _Behind her, Ira watched the Thunderhawks ascend into the the red-mooned sky, his blood-soaked robes caressed by their flight.

"To the Citadel, then?" He asked. She nodded, grasping one of the safety handles for support. It'd been a long time since she'd been so weary.

"First things first, Ira. Find the Seneschal, and write an official document proclaiming him the new provincial governor." Her acolyte nodded, ready to obey. _The Archive must be left in capable hands._ _Amat will have to be extracted as well. I'll order him to ride with the Woadians for now._

Riding large reptilians, Shao-la's allies streamed into the city, aiding the natives in extinguishing the fires that devastated the city. _After the loyalty and tenacity they showed me, they deserve a real garrison_, she thought. But the lingering memory of the King's possession embittered her as the Citadel neared.

_Calm yourself. _The Lady Inquisitor found it a difficult task. One glimpse of Ruby, and her galaxy unhinged, taking everything she knew and throwing it to the eddies of the warp.

_If… Emperor forbid, she's fallen to the Dark Gods, I will take it upon myself to destroy her soul. _The very thought made her stomach heave and twist, recoiling in horror at the very notion.

Outside of praying it was not so, there was no other option.

_If my worst fears came to pass, Ruby must die by my hand._

* * *

"This is bullshit." Yang was pissed. _One of Weiss' stupid guards knocked me out with her stupid drugs._ Not only that, but when she woke up an hour later and tried to stand, the entirety of Gamma took it upon themselves to force her into a wheelchair. _A fucking __**wheelchair**__._

"Shaddup, Trooper." Jorvis growled. "If you die from all that squirming, I'll have these fuckers whining about it for years." He huffed. "If they make it that long."

"What the Sarge is trying to say," Caolin cut in with a ready grin, "is that you should be glad Ros and I didn't strap you to a stretcher." The aforementioned red-head gave her friend a quick wink, causing Yang to groan in frustration. They didn't know that unless another squad of traitor marines appeared, her aura reserves would be enough to stitch her up in a week's time.

As they waited for their transports outside the walls of Shao-la, a quietness came over them. Many Woadians perished in defense of the city, most falling to the daemon's assault and the resulting breakthrough. Some perished from infection, and others descending into madness, tearing their skin away and gnashing their teeth. They could not stand the stress of surviving a daemon, and were bestowed the Emperor's mercy.

One more cold, stark reminder of the Imperium's realities. Just witnessing the creature drove trained soldiers to suicide and gibbering insanity. She'd found a few while chasing out the Yǒng-lo, cowering in the rubble while they babbled nonesense words that made her shoulder burn. On Remnant, they'd be committed to a mental health institute. Here, they were shot on sight.

She sighed, once more wrestling with the justification of it all. Once she would have called that barbarism. Now it looked like mercy. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to center herself by looking out over her comrades.

The standards of the 111th Woadian Rangers flew a new streamer, one only a few regiments would recognize: a single black banner. Daemonkillers. Even flying it was dangerous, as an overzealous Inquisitor would see contact with warp-spawn as a liability. But Ira told them to wear it with pride and honor. No harm would come to them while they labored under the Lady Inquisitor. There was another addition as well, jammed onto the top with vicious force: a horned cerulean helm, its red visor cracked and splintered. A donation of Yang's.

Weiss' words to her were disconcerting though, to say the least. The Inquisitor was haggard and worn, and when she asked to speak later… she shuddered. _Something's terribly wrong_. She could've sworn she'd seen rose petals too. _Memory's getting fuzzy. All these painkillers._

In truth, she'd pushed herself far beyond what she should have. Weiss' medic had been right to conk her out. _Doesn't mean I have to like the wheelchair._ They didn't even let her wheel the damn thing!

She chuckled, trying to shake away the gloomy mood that'd come over her. They had defended Shao-la. Though many of its citizens perished and most of the city burned to the ground, the timely arrival of the Sisters of Battle kept the spirit of the natives alive. For many years, it would be a city of ash, but it would stand tall once more. Rumor had it the lizard-riders lost their entire cities fighting the heretics, and would become Shao-la's newest residents. Beaming, Yang clapped Ros on the back.

"We did it," she said.

"The Sisters did it, you mean," Ros replied, wearing a small smirk.

"The Sisters helped me is what you meant," Caolin said. Mael (as always) remained silent, rolling his eyes at his comrades' banter. The loss of their friends still weighed heavily upon them, however. Losing Svyr was unexpected and unnecessary, and Yang felt a bit cheated that she was denied her revenge. As Ros wheeled her up the ramp of their landing craft, she watched the rest of the Regiment filter out of the city.

Delta platoon lost too many people, and would be absorbed into Gamma once they were off-planet. _Death. So much death._ Yang bit the thought down.

"Don't let them hear you, Caolin," she said, smiling once more. "They look like they mean business."

"Hey, I saw them too! Did you see those two with the flamers? They had to be twins. Twins, man!" Ros punched him on the shoulder. "And that one… Emperor, she had to be at least seven and a half feet tall! Big as a damned astartes."

"If anything, we have a shit-ton more firepower," Asgeg said, her eyes bright and shining. "Emperor, they were magnificent." Even Yang couldn't deny that. They were effective. Religious nutjobs, but effective nonetheless… even if it meant yet more zealotry and Emperor-fanatics. _Will I ever be free of it all? _As a Yǒng of thanks spilled out from Shao-la, the answer seemed to be a resounding 'no'. _Damnation_. The engines spun up, buffeting the savannah grasses with jet-wash. Hundreds of landing craft roared, ready to return them to the _Ascendant Dawn_. A single voice cried out from below, fighting the great gales.

Squinting against the wind, Soo struggled to reach them in a ash-streaked apron, a rucksack slung over her shoulder. Her hair billowed and fluttered, but she pressed onwards. Bellowing a guttural noise, Mael reached out for her, gesturing her aboard. Laughing, she dashed up to the landing craft, ducking inside before the doors slammed shut.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Jorvis growled, his hands swallowing his face. "We have camp followers now." He settled into his seat with a weary sigh. "Golden Throne of Terra, the shit I put up with." Ignoring the sergeant, Soo pounced on Mael, pulling him into a long, tear-stained kiss.

The landing craft erupted into tumultuous cheers, Yang's the loudest of all.

* * *

As the Imperial soldiers flew away in their metal boxes, Ke Nuyen watched them go. Her granddaughter's decision to join them was not one made lightly. Were her bones not worn and ragged with age, she would have gladly joined her little Soo. Rarely in such short a time had she served the Emperor with such fervor.

Sighing, she wiped a small tear away from the wrinkles surrounding her eyes. Her little liyu blossom was gone. With a huffing, watery laugh, she patted her bloodied hands on her nurses' apron. _That muscled soldier-boy had a part in this, no doubt!_

Turning away from the departing soldiers, she made her way through the smoke and ash that choked the streets she'd known as a child. Tying her grey hair behind her head, she resolved to put her granddaughter's departure behind her. For now at least. Later, she'd light a candle for her safety.

Speaking of prayer, a new Yǒng echoed through the streets of Shao-la. The new Saint. Already, an icon of her summoned the faithful under its banner, her image framed with flecks of bright yellow crystal. Already, the child Joo-yi sung her praises, chanting of the radiant woman's glory as she watched the Saint slay four of the arch-foe's foulest servants.

She was blessed enough to witness her, speak with her in person. She thanked the Emperor for the honor, and thought about joining the worshippers, but decided to hunt for survivors instead.

Ke knew that's what the Saint would prefer.

* * *

**A/N: Oooh, now that sure is interesting, huh? :D ****Be sure to let me know what you think! Your input helps me tremendously! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**Jack Inqu: Me too! I'm glad you're enjoying this, and I hope this update rocked! :D**

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**Madman Evil: Fuck yeah!**

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**Knives91: Hahahaha I love getting reviews like yours! Thanks so much for the kind words!**

**DanAbnett1997: I'm so glad the sisters are going over well... they kick total ass!**

**Trife: They are not well-known at all (at least from what I understand). The Officio Assassinorum is incredibly secretive to anyone not an official in the Imperium.**

**RED Roman Pyro: Yes, the Shao-la arc has concluded!**

**Undying Soul98: Hey, I love getting reviews like yours! It's one of the most rewarding things about writing, and I'm thrilled you're enjoying it so much. Who knows what the future holds? :)**

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**OBSERVER01: She mentioned them in Chapter 10. :)**

**ZalrokCSoulDeath: Probably, but definitely not in the Adeptus Sororitas!**

**antisnipe: Seen it! Looks awesome! (Unlike the new Inquisitor game...)**

**Guest: Oh hey, I'm glad to hear it! I work pretty hard at making sure everything's easy to understand. :)**

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**Gafgar: Hehehe ok, I was just confused. Thanks for educating me on crypteks! :D**

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**Mintskittle: The Infernal Galop works as well (if being a little silly). Thanks for looking at all the little details about Darron too. :)**

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* * *

**Thanks so much everyone! I love to hear from each and every single one of you!**


	32. I'm Drowning

**A/N: A little bit slower paced recovery chapter today. Hope you all enjoy. :)**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 31: I'm Drowning**

"_Again! Again! Again we turned them back! Again! Again! Away! Away! Away we sailed, clothed in noble grey! Away! Away!" - Ancient Woadian Drinking Song_

Once more, the 111th gathered in the great hall of the _Ascendant Dawn_ to pay tribute to the fallen. It had been a full day since leaving Ranshu. Most of the Regiment had collapsed once they found their barracks, sleeping off the horrors of the past few days. That is, until Major Hraksson called them over the ship's PA, summoning them for the service.

Bound by her wheelchair, Yang hummed along to the resonant melody of the funeral dirge. Unlike the wake of Jala Prime, however, it was sung with lighter hearts. They were no longer mourning the forgotten, but praising those who gave their lives to protect the city of Shao-la. Even though initial estimates feared the worst, the timely arrival of the Sisters had curbed casualties significantly. Only a thousand Woadians perished in the Emperor's service.

Yang bowed her head. Though paying no heed to her comrades' religion, they deserved every inch of respect. Her friends did the same, making the sign of the Aquila. When the dirge died away, the lone voice of a Ranshu native reached for the rafters, soon followed by many of its brethren.

Soo was not the only one to leave their homeworld behind. A whole host of camp followers cropped up overnight, drawn from the ranks of Ranshan civilians. Whether drawn by wanderlust, the Emperor, greed or despair, they'd boarded the empty drop ships, ready to make their fortune among the stars.

Though one thing gnawed at Yang: the Lady Inquisitor did not stand in observance of the rituals. Worrying after her friend's well-being, she didn't hear Ros' words at first.

"Huh?" She asked, snapping to face her friend.

"I asked, 'are you alright'?"

"Yeah. Doing fine," Yang replied with a wide grin. "I think most of my ribs are in one piece, which is always nice." Her wound colored her flank a dark and blotchy purple. In her first year as a huntress, such a wound would've been an extended hospital stay. Now it was annoyance. Her aura would have her back in fighting shape within the next few days.

As the Woadians shuffled out of the Great Hall, Yang and her friends headed back to their barracks. Though they had lost a few close comrades, their mood was bright, and whispered rumors of a memorial party reached their ears. Caolin sidled up to her as they wound through the corridors. Soo joined them as well, slipping an arm through Mael's, silent but observant.

"You gonna tell us how you survived, or what?" Caolin asked, eyebrow raised.

"Ask Soo. She was there for most of it… kinda," She replied, waving him off.

"She can't speak a damn word of gothic and you know it," he said. Yang shrugged, wearing a mischevious smile.

"Guess it'll be a mystery, then. At least until Mael teaches her." Mael rubbed the back of his head, chuckling noiselessly. Asgeg rolled her eyes. Craning her neck to look up at Ros, Yang saw she was frowning.

"Relax, girl." she said, beaming. "I'm fast, and I have a power sword. Cut 'em up like butter."

"Was that before or after they broke your ribs?" Caolin said, his split-lip scar turned into a sly grin. Yang threw her hands up in mock frustration.

"Oh, thanks for all the sass." she said, trying to angle her wheelchair to crush his toes. "It's not like I saved you from certain death or anything. Don't mention it. _Any time_, you guys." They laughed.

"For what it's worth," Theni said, "_I'm_ grateful."

"_Thank _you!" She cried, much to the amusement of her squadmates.

"Yeah, shut the fuck up Caolin. You haven't even gotten hit yet." Ros said, wearing a small grin.

"That's hardly fair, I-"

"Shot in the leg," Theni said. Leering at their marksman friend, Asgeg clacked her augmentic fingers together.

"Hell, I got stabbed in the shoulder," Ros said. "It still hurts sometimes!" Mael pointed to his mouth.

"And we all know what happened with me," Yang finished.

"You guys are too cruel." Caolin said, flushing as his face sunk into his scarf.

"We're just giving you shit, buddy." Asgeg said, throwing her good arm over his shoulder. "We're really just jealous. You got lucky. In a way," she paused, "we all did. If we were in Third Company…" The jovial mood died at once, the reminder of the daemon swallowing their smiles. Even from their position on Shao-la's flanks, they could still see their comrades throwing themselves off the walls. Ros slapped her on the back of the head.

"Hey now, none of that!" She said. "We did the Emperor's work back there. Hell, who else'll get to tell their kids they saw traitor marines, a daemon, and the Sisters of Battle in one day?" Clapping her on the back, Yang took over for her red-headed friend.

"She's right, you know. We made it through that shit-show, we're alive! We have some kick-ass battle nuns with us now. Not to mention," she said, giving them a lecherous grin, "we have camp followers now, huh? So enough of moping, huh? Let's go to this party we've been hearing about! Let's get wrecked!" They laughed at this, the reminders that they survived the flaming hell of Shao-la helped return their spirits a bit. "And Mael, buddy... buddy…" She said, still smiling. Caolin laughed, rubbing his knuckles into the mute man's shaggy hair. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that you better keep your eye on Soo. She fell for your ugly mug, what's she gonna do when she has the whole regiment to pick from?" Mael made his silent chuckle, showing her a two-fingered salute popular among the agri-worlders.

"So where is this party anyway?" Ros asked.

"Barracks Block C." Caolin said. "Lana told me to stop by." They gave him puzzled looks. "What? Didn't she tell you?" Confused, they shrugged their shoulders.

"Alright then!" Yang said, pointing to Block C dramatically, "forward, lackeys! Full steam ahead!" Theni coughed, his eyes shifting around.

"Well, Yang… it's only been about twelve hours since we got back. Most of us reek." Yang stopped. She'd been so used the smell of smoke, ozone, sweat and death, she'd totally forgotten. Shaking away the uneasiness that thought brought, she pointed once more.

"To the showers!"

* * *

After a few quick showers and an hour's preparation, they arrived at Barracks Block C. Yang felt much better once her hair was clear of ash and blood. Though she was still bound in her wheelchair, she felt refreshed. While Weiss' words still stuck with her, (and she still had a bone to pick about her aborted escape attempt) there would be time to talk later. Right now, she wanted to push that to the back of her mind. Didn't want to think about it. Her friends needed to smile.

Noise boomed from within, splitting Yang's lips into a wide smile. "Better late than never, huh guys?" Chuckling, Caolin rapped on the bulkhead emblazoned with a worn and scraped 'C'. Lorl ripped it open, already piss-faced. Seeing his squad mates, he gave them all a huge grin.

"There you guys are!" He bellowed, red-faced and slurring his words. Laughing, they embraced him, entering the party. It was total chaos. All six barracks in the block stood open, each overflowing with Woadians. In the cold, spartan hallways of the _Ascendant Dawn_, strings of light hung in their hundreds, and the crowd brought the room temperature to a sweltering boil. A crude music player blared noise that one could construe as music if one was appropriately deaf. Yang laughed, even though it sent needles of pain running up her flank. _This is what my funeral should've been like_. They decided to honor the dead by celebrating life. Yang liked that.

Even a few Ranshan attended, standing out with their pale skin and taller frames. A trooper pressed a cup of amasec into her hand, one she downed before she could move on. It tasted just as bad as she'd hoped.

"You sure you should be drinking, Yang?" Ros asked.

"Alcohol kills germs. That's science, Ros." She replied with a wink. Soon, they were all equipped with drinks, tapping their feet to a shuddering bass kick. Such was the press of dancing and inebriated Woadians, there was barely any room for the members of Squad F. "Man, how'd they even get this much amasec?" Yang boomed, now on drink number seven.

"No idea," Asgeg said, "but they better keep it coming!"

"Well if they're not careful, Hraksson will close 'em down," Ros said, her eyes scanning the party. "Or worse, Daniloft will come creeping around."

"Now that'd be a shame, wouldn't it?" Major Hraksson said, wearing a red face and a devilish grin. At his waist hung one of his command squad, taught muscles and breasts glistening with sweat. Yang threw her a wink, and her freckled face screwed up in confusion. Ignoring her friends' laughing approval of their Major, Ros straightened.

"S-sir!" Ros shouted, saluting.

"Lemme… lemme give you a hint, Corporal," Hraksson said, nuzzling the pale, braided mane of his companion, who giggled and slapped him away. "What you have in your hands is grade 'A' bathtub amasec… straight from the quarters of an anonymous Major." The nearest Woadians roared their approval, hoisting their cups and canteens high. Turning to Yang, Hraksson knelt next to her, close enough to smell the alcohol steaming from his mouth.

"Now," he began, with all the false trepidation he could muster, "Representative, I trust our gracious Lady won't hear a word about this party?" Yang's brow twisted in confusion.

"Party?" She stole his drink, downing it as she gave the Major's arm candy another look. "I'm sorry sir, no idea what you're talking about."

He exploded with uproarious laughter. Standing, he shouted. "Hey! Hey! Turn that shit down, I've got something to say!" A few heads turned. "HEY!" He bellowed. That got them, and the noise died down. "Thank you. Here," he began, placing a hand on Yang's shoulder, "sits Trooper Yang Xiao Long. Most of you know her as our Representative to the Lady Inquisitor. What you don't know is that she's the one who slew the traitor marine, whose head now decorates our banner!" Gasps and whistles of approval filled the Block. "I propose a toast… first, to those who died. They died as heroes! Their sacrifice is what allows us to celebrate today! Second, I toast Trooper Yang, dare I say the most able among us!" This was greeted with a few cheers and whistles. "Lastly, most importantly, a toast to the Emperor, who blessed us all with friends, drink, the Sisters, and a noble battle! Trooper Yang, any words?" Silence reigned for a moment as they waited for her response.

"Let's get fucked up!" The noise was deafening. Once more, the party erupted and the music returned with a vengeance. Hraksson accepted a long kiss from his companion. _Damn,_ Yang thought, _no luck there_. Before she could process what was happening, Yang was assaulted with well-wishers and drunken Woadians, who plied her with drinks she gladly accepted. _Where was this the last times we've fought?_

Her companions dispersed into the party. Lana arrived to drag Caolin away, Asgeg made her way over to the dancers, and Mael embraced Soo, their faces red from heat and proximity, each wearing big, dopey grins. Watching them, many of the Woadians cajoled and whistled, happy that their kinsman snagged a local girl.

"This is insane!" Yang said, laughing. "Where the hell did this come from?" Theni chuckled at her confusion.

"I guess the mood's better now!" He said. "Look at him," he said, nodding towards Major Hraksson. Their commander's hand was vanishing under a loose-fitting tank top. _Lucky bastard_. "That's his vox-officer, by the way." He shook his head, smiling at the look on Yang's face. "It's just how we Woadians are, right?"

"Right…" Yang said. She turned to drag (or wheel) Ros deeper into the party, but found her friend had vanished. "Ros?" No answer. _Where'd she get off to? _"Ros?" Frowning, she made her exit, struggling to fit her wheelchair through the bulkhead. "Damn it." Her vision swam as a heady buzz filled her vision. _Too many drinks far too fast. Defenses weren't up._ "Shit." Once she was through, she saw a flash of red hair turning a corner. "Ros!"

Wheeling after her friend, she grew frustrated with her slowness. "Ros!" She tried again. She ignored her. "C'mon!" Snarling with frustration, she stood, and the chair skittered across the hallway. Diving forward, she took ahold of Ros' wrist and spun her around. Her friend's eyes were puffy and red, swollen with tears. They ran down her face with such speed they dripped onto her tunic, and her throat worked as she tried to swallow ragged sobs.

"Ros…" Yang started, ignoring the pain in her side. "Ros, what's wrong?" Her friend tried to remove herself from her grip, but she failed. Shuddering, she fell into her arms, lips blubbering. "Hey… shhh, shhh. Ros, what happened?"

"What do you think?" She replied, the words angry and bitter.

"I promised-"

"Doesn't make it easier, Yang," Ros spat. Yang felt fingers tighten around her golden locks, desperate hands cast adrift in a storm-wracked sea of blonde. "I'm sick of this, Yang! I'm sick of missing home, I'm sick of feeling alone. I'm sick…" She stopped, sucking in a breath. I just can't be _happy_. Not since I left Woadia." Breaking off, shaking hands reached into her pocket and withdrew a lho stick.

"Ros…" Her lighter wheezed, shooting sparks into the cold metal hallway.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand." With a sizzling gasp, the lho-stick caught, and Ros breathed deep. "Bad fucking habit. What would Koris say?" She sneered, and it sounded like glass breaking. "See? All I can think about is home."

"I know how hard it is."

"Do you, Yang?"

"Well, I don't know anything about having a husband, but here..." Recovering her chair, Yang brought Ros over to a secluded hallway, farther from the dulled thump of music from Block C. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the photo of Team RWBY from her wallet, her thumb carefully obstructing Weiss from view.

"That's my sister," she said, pointing to Ruby. Ros sniffed, trying to get a better look. Yang smiled. "I've carried that photo around for five years. She's been dead for two of them. Every... " Yang took a deep breath, "every time I look at this photo, I see the same thing. That day, I was sure I'd have her around for the rest of my life. She was so sweet, Ros. In all my life… I've… I've never met a better person. And I was lucky enough to call her my sister."

"Yang-" She cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"I'm not done. Do you really want to know why I stayed behind back on Shao-la? Why they're cheering me back there?" Yang asked.

Ros took a deep drag, letting the smoke calm and center her. She let it loose, and it spilled out from her lips in long, lazy spirals."I'd like that." Yang sighed.

"I wasn't afraid of them, the traitor marines. Hell… I'm not scared of anything anymore. Once Ruby died, there was nothing worse that could happen to me. Those big bastards…" She wiped a tear away, "they might as well have been big fuzzy ursa." Ros' brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not from Woadia. You know that by now, and there's no use pretending." Ros made a weak, chuffing noise. Could have been a laugh.

What Yang didn't tell her is that not only was she incapable of fear, but that she'd _wanted_ that fight. She wanted to challenge herself, feel adrenaline pumping thick and fast under her temples, and let her aura ignite into a roaring inferno. She jerked her thumb back at the noise, smiling.

"You guys can throw one hell of a party though. Mind telling me what that's about?"

"It's… well, Woadian armies have always been boisterous." Ros said, her lho stick crumbling onto the floor. She gave a weak chuckle. "We have more songs about drinking warriors then the battles they fought," she said, kicking at the ash. "And it's traditional for commanders to throw feasts now and then. Throw their prestige around, keep morale up." Her neck craned, peering around the corner at the giant 'C'. "I guess the Major finally brewed enough amasec to have a good party." They shared a brief silence before Ros broke it once more. "You know what… it's only fair." Digging into her pocket, she unfolded a stack of picts, which were so bent and frayed, Yang couldn't tell how many there were.

"Feast your eyes," Ros said, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. She passed a pict to Yang. It was her in a simple wedding gown, hair long and braided like it once was. At her arm stood Koris. Around them, droplets of rain stood frozen in time, but the two couldn't look happier. Yang gave a low whistle.

"He's a looker," She said. With a square, clean-shaven jaw and broad shoulders filling out a well-fitting tunic, the enraptured grin painted on his face pulled his look together quite nicely. _That's odd… his arms look fine… _Yang half-remembered her friend saying his arm had been mangled. Chuckling, she shrugged the thought away. "You've lost a bit of weight since then." Ros didn't respond to her teasing. Yang sighed.

"Look Ros," she said. "I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it doesn't. Before joining the guard I was…" _On another planet. In another Galaxy. Dead. _"...I was a mess. But after a few months in the Guard. It… it feels good. We're helping people. Hell, look at Soo and Mael."

"I did." Ros mumbled. "It hurt." Her hands swallowed her face as she took a deep, rattling breath. "It's not fair, dammit." Yang shook her head, her buzz long since faded away.

"Sure as shit it's not. But Ros, for the first time since… since Ruby died, I feel a little less empty inside. I've been wallowing in grief too long. Now, I'm able to flex my muscles. Knock some heads. You won't see Koris for a long time, and I'd be lying if I said otherwise. While we're here though, let's make the most of it, okay? Let's keep families together." She gave her friend a wry grin that tasted like salt. "And maybe help start some new ones, huh?" Ros sank into an embrace, pressing a smile into her collarbone.

"Yeah. Sounds good to me." Withdrawing, Ros dabbed her eyes with her shirt. She finished her lho stick and ground it into ash. "The way the Major and his friend are going at it, they'll have a lot to explain to the Colonel soon enough." Yang gave a low, wistful chuckle.

"Lucky bastard," she said. Ros rolled her eyes.

"Emperor protect you, Yang." Her gaze fell, before returning it to Yang. "Look… that was the most you've ever said about her...your sister, I mean. I know it wasn't easy... so thanks. I appreciate it. Yang... If I wasn't friends with you, I don't know where I'd be."

_You'd probably be dead_, Yang thought. "Likewise," she said.

"Alright. Enough moping. Let's get back to the party and rescue Caolin. I could've sworn I saw Lana sink her filthy claws into him."

"Yeah…" Yang said, her hand resting on her pocket. _Weiss is waiting on me_. _And_ _here I am, running away once again. _"Would you mind taking this one? I… need to speak with the Inquisitor."

"Really? Yang the party girl skipping out on the biggest one since Elodia?"

"I'll try to make it back. Have fun, Ros. And I mean that. Smile." Limping over to her wheelchair, she beat it back into decent shape before taking a load off. Releasing a long breath, she set off to fetch her microbead. It was time to speak with the Inquisitor.

* * *

**A/N: After about ten-twelve chapters of "the suck", It's about time they'd cut loose. Oh, and if you're thinking "wow, they're not acting like guardsmen here", just know that this kind of shit probably isn't that rare (aside from Hraksson being the provided). Most regiments spend _years_ in transit, they're going to find ways to entertain themselves.**

**That being said, any thoughts you have on the chapter are greatly appreciated! I love hearing from y'all! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: The Dawn of War games are definitely canon to AWoBE, but telling you anything about who's showing up when would be a spoiler!**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I think you'll like it! :D**

**Redcollecter: I guess we'll find out!**

**Nemris: On to Uriel right now. I wonder what awaits them there...**

**tierbook: That is correct.**

**Kiyoushu: *facepalms***

**Knives91: "Because Yang" - that's utterly perfect. Glad you like the Sisters so much, I agonized over them for long time!**

**OBSERVER01: I don't think the SoB know who they're crossing...**

**huCAST 75 madeanaccount: I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens!**

**reality deviant: Now THAT will be the day!**

**Enuncia: Aww! You're too sweet! Glad you're loving this so much! I'm incredibly flattered.**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: I think the SoB get a little bit of an overzealous reputation, even for what they are... that being said, I'll admit Yang being a fifth chaos god probably won't happen haha**

**Ctornello: Yes! I love getting reviews like yours! I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**Sigurd: That would be pretty funny! I'm interested to see your thoughts on the Squad's reactions, and there's a _little_ bit more of that in here. Hope you enjoyed!**

**LegionofMisfits: Hahaha! It all remains to be seen!**

**Gafgar: You didn't, unfortunately... but you _did_ remind me that they existed!**

**Chris Adair: That would be telling!**

**Soleimon Berserker: Your comment confuses me... Maion is a Striking Scorpion!**

**Dom380: Hmmm... I guess we'll find out later!**

**snoogenz: Glad you enjoyed it! :D**

**soupie13941: Oh wow, thanks so much! I'd love to write for the Black Library if I could! As for RWBY fanfiction, it's not _all_ terribad, but there is a dearth of good ones.**

**Jack Inqu: **

**Yoshtar: Your review made me laugh! I'm seriously thrilled you're enjoying it so much!**

**JonesMcDoodles: I love getting reviews like yours! I admit, when I first heard about 40k, my reaction was pretty much the same. I'm pumped you're enjoying the story!**

**OnyxIdol: Thanks so much for your reviews! I'm honored and flattered you're enjoying it so much! Like JonesMcDoodles above, I love getting reviews like yours, where you don't have knowledge of one side of the crossover. However, I think you're in the vast minority who come here not knowing anything about RWBY! I'm surprised the story engaged you so much, but happy to hear it nonetheless! **

**ATP: I mean, Weiss is brilliant, but I don't think she would just be able to build mecha for her guard, no matter how much she'd want to. Plus, the AdMech would NOT be a fan of that.**

**coalface: Elaborating would be a bit of spoiler, sorry! **

**Skepsis Forever: I foreshadowed the Sisters a LONG time ago, and apparently not sufficiently.**

* * *

**Holy shit, you guys just do _not_ disappoint! I'm thrilled there's so many newcomers to this humble little fic of mine, and I'm so happy to have each and every one of you**!** Thank you all so much!**


	33. How Disgusting

**A/N: Alright, time for some quick fun banter. :3 Enjoy, everyone!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 32: How Disgusting**

_"I wish that I could turn back time." - Refrain from a lament (local: Epitaphum) for an unnamed Child_

They met at their usual spot, the Empyrean Observatory. Instead of sitting on the couch, Weiss stood at the window, close enough for her breath to caress the reinforced glassteel. She looked frail without her power armor, like a slip of tattered black silk. For a time, neither of the former Huntresses spoke, choosing to watch the endless oblivion of the warp instead. Yang edged closer, but the grinding screech of her wheelchair gave her away, and she winced. _Shouldn't have tossed it so hard_, she thought. _Piece of crap_.

"Yang… am I a bad person?" Weiss asked, her head unturning, her shoulders unmoving. The question struck her like a slap in the face.

"I… Weiss…" Yang started. This was too much. _What the fuck happened back on Ranshu?_ A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but the first one was 'yes', and it made her sick. It was obvious her friend was languishing. "Why-"

"Answer the question, Yang," The Inquisitor snapped, her voice frigid with the airs of cold command. She sounded like her father.

"I can't Weiss, we both know that." Yang still wanted to punch her for even thinking to abandon Shao-la, but she'd sounded so distressed… _And she stood up for the city when the Sisters threatened to burn it!_ Wheeling closer, she spoke up once more. "I don't know who pissed in your recaf this morning, but I can't help you if you don't spill." Weiss turned to face her. There were no tears, nothing except sunken eyes that had lost their color, skin pallid and lined.

It was the first time she looked her true age… older, even. '_Ice Queen' is dead_, Yang realized. _She died a long time ago. _Her cute nickname for the defrosting heiress, her friend… it tasted like the ashes of Shao-la. Tasted like the grey sand that Rhain fell dead upon.

"Yang, I am an old woman. I've lived a long time, I've seen…" she sighed, shaking her duster off her shoulders and folding it in her arms. "I've seen so much. Whole planets splitting apart, spilling their oceans into the void, continents broken by a single salvo. Billions of souls claimed in an instant. I've seen daemons… twisted, monstrous things. Every time I saw something like that, I'd close my eyes…" She did so now, resting her forehead against the window. "'Ruby', I'd think. 'Ruby'. She'd know what to say. She'd be there for me."

"But she wasn't." Yang said, her throat working. She did not like where this was going. At _all_.

"She wasn't. Eventually, the Imperium became my routine. My new life. I tried to shut Her away. I still dreamt of Her though… Her and rose petals." Stepping away from the glass, she shook her head "Wine and duty were enough to seal it all away." She paused. "And then the Emperor delivered you to my doorstep." Once more fixing her eyes on Yang, she went to join her friend near the couches. "Can you imagine what that was like?"

"Well, I showed up in the Imperium without so much as a warning," Yang said, shifting in her chair. "So that's been a bit of a shock, really," she continued, trying to brighten the mood. Weiss scowled at her, and she felt her hackles rise, an electric current running up her neck.

"Do you honestly think that compares? You've been here a scant few months. You have no idea, Yang." The cold, deadpan delivery stung her worse than the words. A parent lecturing their impotent, sophomoric child.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Yang started, once more about to break her wheelchair. "Don't talk to me like I'm some kid. I've seen shit too, you know!" Weiss rolled her eyes derisively, and Yang saw _red_. _Don't you fucking dare dismiss me like that! _"You know, I came here because you asked me to. Because I was _worried_ about you!" Her friend growled.

"Don't patronize me, you blonde little shit! You wear airs of nobility like you're some perfect fucking angel, but I've seen how you look down at me! You think I like having the deaths of millions on my shoulders? You think I _enjoy_ what I do? Of course not! You're not any better then me!"

"Really Weiss? Is that what you think? You think you can say that after what you've done?"

"Yes!" Weiss shouted, ignoring the blood that seeped from her nostrils. "You're a fucking animal, Yang! You get off on playing soldier, playing the noble hero… but even that's not the whole truth, is it? No, you _like_ killing! Don't think I forgot about you switching out the concussive rounds during our missions! 'Keeping us safe', you said. What a fucking joke!" The words were knives, each one drowning her better judgement in blood and adrenaline, feeding the furnace of her fury. She seethed, spittle flying from her lips as she rounded on Weiss.

"How rich, coming from the Queen Butcher herself! You're worse than your fucking father, and you don't even _realize_ it!" Weiss recoiled, struck by her words. "Oh, I'm sorry, _My Lady_, I didn't mean to offend, _My Lady_." Yang cried. "You're horrible! Trying to lecture me on how to cope! You want to lecture me about how much you miss Ruby? To her _sister, _Weiss?" She demanded. "What the hell is wrong with you? I already dealt with this shit once today, thank you very much, _My Lady!_" Spitting, she leveled her finger at her. "You know, I bet you fucking _love_ this job. You get all your little peons to do whatever you want, and whenever they don't like it, you snap your fingers and something nasty happens to them! Well I'm not them!"

"Yang, I-" Weiss said, stomping over to face her.

"Yang _nothing!_ What did your Captain say to me? 'They die screaming, every last one.' Is that who you are now? Hell, I'd say this whole 'Inquisitor' gig fits you like a fucking glove! Even on Remnant you were always power-hungry!" Weiss snarled at this, and the two women drew face to face, wariness and anger pulling their features tight.

"How _dare_ you?" She whispered, the words crawling through the thin gaps in her frigid teeth.

"Don't you even fucking _try_ that shit on me, Weiss. Wasn't Winter your _older_ sister? Tell me, how did she get passed over when it came to the Schnee Dust Company?" Weiss screamed in incoherent, indignant range, fingers lacing through her snow-white hair.

"My sister was a cunt!" Weiss bellowed, "You never saw that side of her because the only sibling you ever had was _Ruby! _She was perfect, Yang! Brave, skilled, innocent, charming, beautiful, funny! Don't you _dare_ judge me!" She shrieked. "Not after you decided to mourn Her by getting drunk and fucking whatever stranger you happened to lay eyes on! For _two years_, Yang! I thought you could help me in this nightmarish galaxy, but you are just as pathetic as you were back then!"

_HURT HER_. The thought surged through her, pounded against her temples. It made her shoulder roil in agony, but it felt right, oh so _right_. _SHE KNOWS NOTHING_, the thought continued, _BITCH BITCH BITCH __**BITCH**_

Yang's hand shot out, clasping the Inquisitor's throat between her white-knuckled fingers. Her hair ignited, and her eyes shone a bloodier red than the warp that boiled a few dozen yards away.

"Shut the fuck up," she spat. _Yes! Listen! __**LISTEN!**_ Weiss made no move to escape, held in place by steel fingers. Her face was red, steaming, angry, angry, angry. "I'll sit and tolerate your whining about how you wanted to fuck my sister, but I won't be insulted! I know what I did, and I regret it every. Single. Day." The Inquisitor's fists hammered against the corded muscle of Yang's arm, only feeding her semblance further. S_queeze. SQUEEZE_. "You pray to their God and wear their sigils. Command their legions and pilot their ships. That's something else this galaxy has taught me, Weiss." She snarled, tightening her fingers. "There is no grey. Only white. And black. _Us_." She tightened her grip. "Versus _them_. Remnant versus the Imperium. Once Ruby shows up, I know what side she'll be on." Leaning in, she matched Weiss' stare, a rictus of unfiltered _hate_. "And it isn't yours." She released her hold on Weiss, whose answer was a resounding slap, one that struck Yang with unrelenting fury. It threw her out of her wheelchair, sent her sprawling across the floor of the Observation deck.

The Inquisitor did not for gasp for air, nor make any sudden movements. Roaring, Yang pounced, slamming a fist into the Weiss' face. Nothing. It was like punching a brick wall without her aura. Yang swung again, the strike shrugged aside like a rifle round off the hull of a battleship. _HOW DARE SHE HURT HER KILL HER SHE'S WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG _

She screamed in frustration and desperation, hammering away to no avail. But Weiss remained motionless and uncaring. Her aura was nothing like it was on Remnant. It was _monstrous_. Slowly, one by one, the blows slackened. Stopped. _What… what… what am I doing?_

Yang looked at her hands realizing what she'd done. She felt sick. Why? Why had she done that? _Why did I snap like that? Oh Dust, I actually choked her. I wanted to kill her._ Golden hair fell to rest at her shoulders, her eyes turning violet once more.

"Weiss? I'm so sorry… I… _fuck!_ What… what's wrong with me?" She said, the words barely sliding past her swollen throat. Looking up at Weiss, she saw pity. Regret. And it felt like drowning.

"You realize that during your... _tantrum_, I could have killed you in a heartbeat?" Weiss said, the rage gone, replaced with nothing but ice. "I could have slipped into your mind and broke it. Snapped it like a twig." She loomed over Yang, towering over her. And would you like to know why you had that outburst?" Nodding, Yang struggled to her feet, trembling.

"It's my fault. Ever since Ranshu, my connection to the warp has been out of control. Spilling over. I can't keep myself restrained. My kasrkin see a figure wherever they go. A Red Woman. Amat…" She shook her head. "And Emperor, Ira hasn't left his quarters since we've left. It's all my fault."

"Weiss, what's going on?" She didn't answer. "Weiss?"

"I… I might know where Ruby is." Yang's heart burst at the words, filling her stomach with dread, with sickening, acidic joy.

"Where?" She asked, the only word she could manage.

"I saw Her in the King's mind. But he had fallen to the arch-foe long before we arrived." The words felt like physical blows, each one more powerful than the one that crushed her ribs.

"Does that mean-"

"I don't know what it means exactly. What I do know is that the King was possessed with Josephus' essence. Or something akin to it. He spoke to me, mocked me with her image."

"I am going to _wreck _him." Yang roared, a fist hammering her palm. "I will beat him like a drum until he fucking _sings_ like one."

"It's possible…" Weiss said.

"_Wreck_ him, Weiss!" The Inquisitor sighed, scooping her friend up like a toy and dumping her back in her chair.

"Settle down, Yang. It's possible the image was created from our linked minds. The only way we can know for sure is if we find him. And believe me when I say we are going to find him."

"Amen," Yang spat. "I'm going to shove my foot so far up his ass, my bootlaces will stick out his nose. Once we-" She stopped, hesitating as the fight they just had resurfaced. "Aw… dammit. I'm sorry for blowing up, Weiss. Seriously though, why didn't you start out with that?" She said. Weiss sighed, glancing out at the eddies of the Warp.

"Would you believe me if I said I was worried I'd make you angry?" Yang laughed at that. Or, she tried to at least. It came out as a snort of disbelief. "I haven't slept since I learned. I'm afraid if I sleep, I'll dream. And if I dream… I'm afraid I'll slip. All my hard work." Her face met her hands. "Decades of work… all gone. Emperor give me guidance, it's too much."

"Well, when we find 'im, I'm going to tear 'im a new asshole." Yang said. "_After _he tells us where Ruby is."

"And what if she's… fallen?" Weiss asked. The cold logic sent icicles into her spine, but Yang shrugged the question off.

"Then you didn't know my sister very well." Smiling, she put a hand on the Inquisitor's shoulder, almost smiling at the irony… they'd literally been at each other's throats a minute ago. "She'll be fine. I know it."

"And what if you're wrong?" Weiss asked.

"I'm not." She held up her hand before she could reply. "But if she is… we'll do what it takes. You're smart, you can figure out how to fix her." Smiling, she fixed Weiss' hat, settling it on her head. Her face fell just as fast. "And look. About what I said… we're always a team. I don't like the Imperium, and I don't like what you do. But no matter what, we're on the same team."

"Team RWBY." Weiss replied, smiling as well.

"Damn right. If we're lucky, maybe Blake will join us too." Having all four of them… maybe they really could change the Imperium. She missed her team so much it was a pounding, physical ache.

"Yang, you need to know something. I was going to put it off until later, but I think now's a good a time as any." The sudden shift in her tone caused her to sit up in her seat. With a pallid, translucent hand, Weiss removed a silver cylinder from her bosom. "This is a symbol. Hold it." Yang did so, spooling the silver chain in her hand.

"A necklace?"

"A symbol." Weiss repeated. The design on the outside is a typical Inquisitorial theme. Our founder, Malcador the Sigilite. But within…" taking the cylinder, she unscrewed its cap, and pointed to a piece of parchment within it. Yang reached for it, but Weiss slapped her hand away. "It reads 'Only the Emperor is infallible'. Do you know why that is significant?"

"More Emperor-zealotry?" Yang offered, shaking her hand out.  
"No. If I let you remove that parchment, we would have both died. Vaporized in an explosion that would leave a gaping hole in this ship." Yang's eyes went wide. _An explosion that powerful, contained within that tiny slip of silver?!_

"Holy fuck, are you serious?"

"Entirely. Everyone who receives this already knows what the parchment reads. Only those that wish to know its false secrets will remove it. The only way it can detonate. It is a safeguard of sorts." Removing it from Yang's hands, Weiss smashed it against the floor. The device remained inert. "It is a failsafe. The words themselves are a common, simple, platitude. An important one, but an obvious one. It is significant because everyone who bears this necklace is an Inquisitor who belongs to the Recongregationalists."

"The who?"

"Let me finish, Yang. The necklace, the parchment… it is all significant because on the surface, it appears to be nothing more than a typical pendant. Inside however, are the ideals that drive us… connected to a danger that is impossible to know until it has killed you. It is a reflection of who we are."

"You're part of some secret organization?" Yang asked.

"Good to see you're paying attention." Weiss replied, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "The Recongregationalists are a philosophical faction within the Inquisition. We despise what the Imperium has become. We detest the common practices of our comrades and the abuses of the Ecclesiarchy." Taking the necklace in her hands, she turned it over, inspecting it. "Many of the extremes we perform are necessary. But we're all striving to build an Imperium where that won't be the case anymore." Pausing, she smiled. It made her look even older. "Our numbers are swelling. One day, it's my intention that you join us."

"Me? An Inquisitor?" Yang asked. _The idea has its merits_. On Shao-la, she'd realized just how good Weiss had it… in terms of personal freedom, at least. But the responsibility sucked the air out of her healing lungs, leaving her fish-eyed and reeling. "Are you sure?"

"We need you. When I first spoke to you a month ago, when I gave you those glyphs, I spoke of hope. My former master inducted me into their ranks, and I learned what they were: the only sane, sensible people left in this galaxy." Weiss looked up, her smile fading. "The nights grow longer, and shadows stretch themselves across the Imperium. We have a lot to do first, but yes. I am sure."

"We'll fix it." Yang said, recalling her friend's words.

"We will."

"But first, I'm gonna rip Josephus' guts out," Yang said, a malicious grin on her face. "Once we find Ruby and Blake, we'll be unstoppable." She punched the Inquisitor's shoulder. "And I'm sorry for flipping out. No matter what warp shenanigans are going on, I need to watch my temper. Don't blame yourself, either. We'll get Team RWBY back together and show the Imperium how it's done." Pivoting in her wheelchair, Yang smiled. "I actually feel better now, you know?" _If what Weiss said about these Reongregationalists is true, the Imperium might just be salvageable after all._ They even had a lead on Ruby now! _Sure, it'll take some asskicking to get to, but that's what I do best. _Maybe… maybe her sister could fix them. Their friendship. She smiled at the Inquisitor. It hurt. _This won't be our last fight._

* * *

"I'm sorry for exploding, I really am." Yang repeated. The Lady Inquisitor nodded, the picture of forgiveness.

"As am I." A lie. "I didn't mean what I said." Another lie. It's been… a rough couple of days," she said. An understatement so bold it was a blatant falsehood.

"You're good, Weiss. Do you need anything else? I left my friends at the party, and I… I think I could use a drink," Yang said. The Lady Inquisitor waved her off, trying her best to smile.

"Go have fun with your friends. I think I'll watch the warp awhile. It is," she paused, watching a tendril of blue nothingness dissipate into a pulsing cloud of black miasma. "Calming. In a sense. Be safe, and don't you dare get out of that chair. I need you at one hundred percent." Replying with a mock salute, Yang grinned.

"Thanks, Weiss. Try not to worry, okay? We'll get it figured out."

"I pray to the Emperor every day that we will. I'll seek you out in the next couple days. Perhaps we could speak more of Remnant," she replied.

"I'd like that."

Waving goodbye, the Lady Inquisitor watched her wheel out of the Observatory. She hated manipulating Yang, lying to her. The woman was a powerful asset, and a friend as well. She'd been properly incensed against Josephus, but her own responses to Yang's jabs had been disconcerting. Her fist tightened, taut leather stretching over her hand with a hissing groan. _That she managed to anger me so…_ It did not bode well. As a psyker, self-control was paramount. That Yang had the audacity to assault her made her sick. That she had not seen it coming was first and foremost among the reasons why. That she screamed back was almost worse, but not quite.

However, it had been trivial to reconcile with her, in some flimsy sense. Despite her lingering anger and resentment towards Yang, the brawler was more useful contented and bubbly. A few bits of choice information, misdirections, pushing the right buttons that flared across the turbulent sea of Yang's mind… they were all she needed for a semblance of trust and forgiveness. _Thank the Emperor for small favors._

Even though they had fought, Yang remained hopeful about Ruby. _Her mood flipped like a switch_, she thought, and the Lady Inquisitor chuckled. It was the first glimmer of the Yang she'd known back on Remnant. The fun, loyal one. Her teammate. Not the drunkard, the reprobate. But her sheer naivete grated on her. If Ruby fell to the Dark Gods, there was no 'fixing' her. Yet she hadn't the heart to tell Yang that.

_Perhaps there is still some 'Weiss' left in me after all_, the Lady Inquisitor thought. Keying her microbead, she summoned Amat to her side. Afterwards, she found herself reaching inside her duster, thirsty fingers rooting around for libation. _Emperor help me, I'm a hypocrite. I'm no better than Yang_. Sighing, she resolved to restock her supply once they arrived at Uriel.

She'd left Myrtenaster with Magos Tyrham almost twenty years ago. His improvements were more than likely complete by now. Reuniting with a treasured piece of home would do her good, she decided. Maybe Yang was right to remain hopeful. Bowing her head and clasping her hands, she prayed to the Emperor for the deliverance of her soul and Ruby's well-being.

"My Lady?" Amat asked, emerging from the shadows.

"You didn't tell me you made contact with Trooper Yang," the Lady Inquisitor said, gesturing him closer. He stepped forward, nodding in apology.

"Apologies my Lady, I have yet to submit my report." Retrieving a miniature data-slate from his belt, he handed it to her. "This should cover the basics. I apologize for breaking protocol." The Lady Inquisitor accepted the slate, ignoring the text that crawled across its screen. Everything useful had already been discerned in the folds of his mind.

"It is no concern of mine how you approach your mission. I trust your judgement, Amat. Though I wish you hadn't exposed yourself like that. You are my Ace in the Hole. A prized and deadly secret."

"Your faith in me is reassuring. It will not happen again," he replied, stooping humbly.

"In fact, I believe it is for the best that you spoke with her. Now you know what she is like, and how quickly she might lose herself."

"You are wise and noble, Lady," Amat said. The Lady Inquisitor accepted his words with grace before dismissing him.

Once more, she found herself staring out at the Immaterium. With stilling, calming breaths, she contemplated its power and its majesty, its horrors and its nightmares. She thought of the Emperor, she thought of Ruby, she thought of Yang. Lastly, she thought of herself. Of the life that led her to this moment.

_Am I a bad person?_ She chuckled to herself, for she knew the answer already. Knew it the moment she first clasped her rosette.

* * *

**A/N: Upon re-reading this, I admit that the fight came on a little quickly, but this is some stuff that's surfacing between them after a month or so of mulling over. If their sudden reconciliation feels manufactured though, you should note that that's the point. You'll also notice that I made up a lot of stuff about the Recong. Inquisitors, if this doesn't fit their MO in the fluff, that's too bad. Couldn't dig up much anyway.**

**Oh, and random thought, but if you ever wanna chat or hit me up about the story, stop by this story's thread on Spacebattles or Sufficient Velocity! I love hearing from you guys!**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: Haha I never said Dawn of War characters will be _appearing_, just that they're canon to AWoBE. Sorry!**

**Heitomos: I hope it satisfied! As regards to your question, it still broke them when she tried it. It boosts their power to such a degree, tehy snap under the pressure.**

**Inquisitor Azreal: Huh. An interesting thought!**

**Skepsis Forever: Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it! Or at least... I hope you did! :D**

**OBSERVER01: It... may have turned a bit ugly. XD**

**snoogenz: Hope this chapter delivered as well!**

**blaiseingfire: Doctor's orders! Plus, she's _slightly_ more mature than her current canon counterpart. Knows when too much is too much.**

**Galm: Hope you enjoyed!**

**Redcollecter: I... uh... what?**

**huCAST 75 madeanaccount: I'm seriously thrilled you're enjoying the story so much! Your questions will be answered, all in due time...**

**Yoshtar: Yeah, the debrief didn't really go as planned...**

**Kiyoushu: Ruby? That's... oh Emperor... feeling nauseous...**

**Nemris: That's actually a really good question, and something I've thought a bit about. Basically, it'll go like this - if shit needs to be shown, it will... if not, it'll be in summary form. :)**

**Geth Markov: While I can't answer your question, I'm glad you're enjoying it so much!**

**Sigurd: Some interesting thoughts here! I wonder if they'll come to fruition...**

**Dayanne Rockstar: That would be pretty awesome!**

**soupie13941: Hahaha I'm glad you (and everyone else, it seems) is picking up on all the character development.**

**DeusExMortis: Hey, thanks so much for your review! I have more cool shit to come, believe me! As to your story, I'll try and get to it sometime, but beware... I will be merciless! :D**

**Gafgar: Wait... what?**

**Mintskittle: Hey, take your time! I really enjoy your Apocryphal side-stories, and always squee a bit when I see them. I'm particularly pleased to see all the thought you're putting into the story. Your theories on Amat are interesting! I guess we'll stay tuned to see what happens, huh? Thanks again for all your hard work!**

* * *

**I think that the pace of updates might slow here for a little bit. Need to get back into the rhythm of Uni and what not. Thank you so much for all your support! I love you guys! :D**


	34. The Shadowalker

**A/N: Hey, guess what everyone? It's time for everyone's favorite eldar! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 33: The Shadowalker**

"_These walls were not built from the songs of Il-Kaithe. They are not towering monuments, nor expressions of artistic mastery. They are beautiful in their humbleness, waves of bone upon a sea of grass." - Bonesinger Rhona_

Dolone shone under the morning's simulated sun, elegant wraithbone spires given new life by the light of dawn. Maion breathed deep, relishing in the sight she knew so well. She knelt atop the compound's garden, in her third cycle of meditation. The beauty of Il-Kaithe always helped sharpen her mind. In the atrium below, a convalescing Juros played with his children, accompanied by his life-companion Melisadra. Most eldar would find the shrieks and fits of laughter a distraction, an inconsiderate and unacceptable display of frivolity. Such concerns were not shared by Maion.

Around her, the Tou'Her awoke, stirring from their slumber to go about their business. They shared greetings, ate food, enjoyed the peace of a bright morning. Mirodir awaited her on the training grounds.

Standing, she sighed and stretched. Watching her family, Maion smiled. Today would be the day she found her semblance. It had been two months since she began her training with Mirodir, each day focused on growing stronger. Mother told her that each individual's semblance was different, a part of their will, a consummate expression of their soul.

Descending the stairs, she allowed Juros' youngest to pounce on her, wrapping his arms around her neck.

"I've got you, Auntie Maion!" He cried with glee. A boy of only ten passes, he was the youngest of the Tou'Her.

"Well struck, little one," she replied with a smile. Swinging him around and planting him on his feet, she teased his spiky blonde hair into a mockery of order. "You will make a fine warrior someday." His emerald eyes glowed at that, and he beamed.

"Truly?"

"Of course. You are young however, and have many Paths to walk before you tread the Warrior's." He looked dejected for a moment, his blatant display of disappointment childish and amusing. Maion smiled. "Though we at the Shadowed Sword could always use a talented young one such as yourself." His chest swelled with pride, and his face flushed with excitement. Rushing forward, he embraced her. Laughing, she returned the gesture. "And take care once you do walk the Warrior's Path," she added. "A war-mask is a terrible, powerful thing." Looking up at her with glowing eyes, he nodded, stern and silent.

"Cellacar, leave your Aunt be." Looking up, Maion saw her nephew's mother, Juros' wife. Once an outsider to the family, Melisadra was now a proud mother to three of its members. Like all those that joined the family via marriage, she was a different breed of eldar. Most of Il-Kaithe were disgusted by their presence, but there were always those intrigued by the clan of soul-wielders, fascinated by their prowess and ability.

"The boy has done no wrong, Melisadra," Maion said with a smile. "He is simply an aspiring warrior." As many of the Tou'Her before him, so too did Cellacar dream of wielding his unique talents to defend their craftworld and crusade across the stars.

"Thanks, auntie," he said, still beaming.

"You have been meditating for a long time," Melisadra said, beckoning her son over to her. "I would hate for your state of mind to falter." Breathing in the atmosphere of the atrium, Maion shook her head. As always, the fountains gurgled and purred their watery hum, accompanied by the joyous cries of Cellacar's brothers.

"I am quite well, thank you," she replied. Her mind sang its serenity, ringing with the simple joys of realized purpose and a healthy home.

"What has roused you, sister?" Juros asked, approaching her. His arm was bound in a tightly-wound brace that matched his loose-fitting robes. Miniscule drops of blood speckled the red-and-gold cloth, crystallized into studs of crimson. Like Maion, Autarch Elladar sent him to do battle with the forces of Josephus, where he had been wounded by a brace of crude bullets.

"Mirodir awaits me in the training grounds." With just a few words, Maion now commanded the attention of every Tou'Her present. Those that had just awoken turned to her with undisguised interest, their eyes set alight.

"Your semblance?" Melisadra inquired, her interest indicated by an upturned eyebrow. Though she currently walked the Path of the Mother, her days as a Swooping Hawk lived through her in the sharp angle of her eyes, her nose upturned like a hunting hound's. She was no longer an outsider to the family, and she knew the significance of her statement.

Maion nodded. "It is past time I discovered it. I have walked upon the Path of the Warrior for thirty passes, and it is time I progress beyond what the Shadowed Sword offers." Leaving to don a more suitable garment, she addressed her well-wishers with words of thanks and a warm smile.

She slipped inside her room, a small apartment attached to the main house. It was still and quiet, radiant light piercing through the intricate curtains that bled the light of a false sun onto her few belongings. A few bits of marble and clay stood scattered about, as her days as a Sculptor yielded meagre results, though she kept her favorite piece - a woman wreathed in formless black silk, her arm outstretched behind her, lips turned to a harlequin's grimace. A work wholly outside the norm of her peers, one her mentor regarded with equal parts awe and uneasiness.

Other than the statues and a few serene ink paintings, the room was bare. Neat. Orderly. There were no children to attend to, no life-companion to muss her sheets. One day, perhaps. _But now_, she thought, slipping on her skin-tight sparring gear, _duty and honor call_.

When she emerged, she found a small crowd had gathered in the atrium, whispering in hushed tones. The music of their speech was a coarse but silent river, hissing with speed and roaring with power.

"Juros, have you all come to watch?" She asked. It was not uncommon for the Tou'Her to gather in appreciation of their soul-wielding, enjoy the spectacle and majesty of aura-enchanced combat. But so many… Most of her siblings were away, but Phyladra and Asuriel were present, along with a veritable host of aunts, uncles, and cousins, all milling in the atrium.

"We have… but there's been a development." His darting eyes betrayed his nervousness. Honed by passes upon passes of training, Maion discerned their target - an elegantly dressed figure that stood outside the compound, his demeanour calm and collected.

"Autarch Elladar?" Shock spread its way through her, settling on her hackles like a current of electricity. He gave a small bow, bestowing them all with a placid smile.

"Greetings of the new cycle to you. Mirodir has invited me into your home to attend this… awakening." More flitted voices accompanied this declaration, ones steeped with suspicion and confusion. No one visited the Tou'Her compound. And to observe their soul-wielding, no less. Many turned to Maion, awaiting her reaction. Though unaware of her brothers intentions (and much less certain of Elladar's arrival), she gave her commander a polite bow.

"Greetings of the new cycle to you as well, my Lord. Welcome into our humble home," she said, gesturing towards the practice field. "We're about to begin." Nodding, the Autarch stepped through the gate, appraising the small crowd and the unique peacefulness of the atrium. "I hope Mirodir told you that you might not witness what you came here for?" Maion said, escorting him to the practice field.

"He did."

"And you came regardless?" She asked. He smiled, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in a display of sincere geniality.

"Of course. In truth, my presence here was more my doing then his, as I have my own reasons for attending. But an opportunity to watch the… fabled Tou'Her in action is not one lightly come upon." His words sent a murmur of wariness through the family. They knew his words were banal and harmless, but the hesitation was unmaskable.

Approaching the rear of the compound, Maion and company reached the gate of the training field, wraithbone gates embossed with waystones and intricate carvings that illuminated the Tou'Her's history. Reaching out, Maion's fingers caressed the wraithbone, the touch familiar and resonating with the echoes of her kin. Aunt Rhona had wrought them, and her voice was the strongest of them all. Though her spirit lived on in the Infinity Circuit, the echo of her life unwound at Maion's touch, sending warm red lines spiralling across the doors. She'd spent many years of her life constructing the compound, the place she raised her children, instructed Maion during her brief walk down the Path of the Seer. Closing her eyes, she could hear her Aunt's laughter, feel her heart swell at the sight of her children.

The gates opened, revealing the field. Surrounded by a tangled mess of wraithbone pillars that casted shadows across the grass that shifted in an artificial breeze. Mirodir was there, his back to her.

"Brother."

"Ah. Ready to begin?" He asked, stirring from his seat.

"Yes." Despite the unexpected arrival of the Autarch, her mind was the surface of a reflection pool, still and peaceful. Her semblance awaited her. She knew it.

"The let us begin," he said, standing. His ebony hair was tied tight against his scalp, his eyes narrowed and focused. As the head of the Tou'Her and its most eminent soul-wielder, it was his duty to aid the rest of the family in matters of the soul… and trial by fire was the most common method of unlocking semblances. Her family stilled behind her, settling into a respectful silence.

"I don't see any weapons…" Autarch Elladar remarked before being hushed by Cellacar. The child's insubordination released a ripple of amusement through the small crowd, one that even Maion smiled at. _Uncle Garnet is a bad influence on that one_. Stepping forward, she sunk low to the ground. Coiled. Ready to strike.

Mirodir matched her, and their auras activated. It was time.

For a heartbeat, neither moved, brother and sister appraising each other as combatants. True to her nature as a Striking Scorpion, Maion moved first. Her feet swept across the grass, and a fist swung around to take Mirodir unawares. His arm knocked it aside, and he countered with a quick jab to her ribs. She danced away, her coiled form skidding to a halt. A test.

Maion burst forward once more, unrestrained and blindingly fast. Her aura pushed her speed beyond the capabilities of even the most practiced warrior. A thunderstorm of blows hammered against Mirodir's defenses, each lightning-quick, each pushed aside by a deft block. One fist overextended, and he capitalized on her mistake, wrenching her arm under his control and hurling her into the air before slamming her against the ground. Though the air left her body, her aura saved her from the shattered ribcage such a blow would have inflicted.

Snarling, she slammed her elbow into Mirodir before he could leverage his advantage, and he grunted in surprise. Scrambling away, she couched herself for another strike. As a Dire Avenger, his forms were well-practiced and balanced, a difficult challenge. But that was the purpose of the spar, after all. Without significant strain, her semblance would lie dormant and unused.

Reaching within her, she let her soul fill every inch of her being. Her blood was pumping, head pounding with adrenaline, fists braced and aura flickering at her fingertips. _This cycle, Maion. This cycle is the one_. Mirodir leapt forward, allowing her no time for introspection. Maion flowed under his strikes, retreating under the controlled yet unrelenting advance.

She flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around her brother in a vicious grapple. His fists hammered against her back, useless against the stalwart shield of her aura. Lifting him into the air, she cast him down with a cry of strain. Pinning him, her fist readied to smash his face in. He was too fast, binding his fist in her sparring gear and hurling her into the ground beside him.

Stars exploded in her vision as her head smashed into the uncaring dirt, brilliant white bursts of light filling the training field with their lazy beauty. Though disoriented and reeling, she rolled away from Mirodir's next attack, clambering to her feet. Wiping blood from her lip, she distanced herself, keeping low to the ground.

She made a feint, and Mirodir flinched, an opportunity that she seized with abandon. Her fist flew forwards, cracking across his jaw. He recovered well, countering with a sharp kick that sent her stumbling back.

_This won't do_. Her aura reserves were holding for now, but the stable and even-handed teachings of the Dire Avengers steeled her brother well against the lightning strikes of the Striking Scorpion. As always, they were even.

Unless he decided to unleash his semblance. _Focus_, Maion thought. _Look within. Who are you?_ She flowed around Mirodir's strike, a blur of ruddy hair and rippling muscle. _Your semblance is a part of you_. Grandmother's words. _A reflection of the self_.

Lashing out, she blindsided her brother with a swinging fist. Though he turned it aside, he could not avoid her knee. It connected with his chest, driving the wind from his lungs. Her feet dug into the earth, and she seized her advantage by barreling into Mirodir. They grappled and struggled before he leveraged his larger aura reserves, folding her over and hammering her into the ground.

With a desperate roar, she bashed her head against his nose, breaking his hold. Scrambling away, Maion weighed her options once more. If they had weapons, she would have won. Her skill with a chainsword remained unparalleled among her comrades at the Shrine… and if she could ambush Mirodir, then she could claim victory.

But she was not on a battlefield, shrouded in concealment. They fought on the Tou'Her's training ground, armed with nothing but their fists. Even ground.

Breathing hard, they circled each other, searching for an opening that never appeared. A gentle breeze stirred the matted grass around them, bearing a trail of red leaves aloft. At this rate, her semblance would go undiscovered. She wasn't pushing her limits, straining-

Mirodir stormed forward, his fist braced. Maion ducked under it, swooping low and rolling away from his next strike. _If I could just get behind him, he'd be defenseless_. But it was impossible. The only shadows afforded by the training field were the ones cast by the stunted spires, laying across even ground.

_Wait. Could I? _Her thoughts were interrupted, broken by Mirodir's charge. Bracing herself, she turned his attack away, shunting him aside and throwing him off-center. A hopeful foot lashed out, but he grabbed ahold of it, attempting to right himself.

Shaking him off, Maion decided to test her theory. It was… shaky, but she couldn't deny it was fitting. They circled once more, and Maion advanced, taking slow, steady steps as she seized the initiative. Mirodir retreated, unwilling to let the distance between them shift.

Soon he was enveloped in shade, crouched below the tallest spire. _My thanks, Auntie._ Her aura flared as she willed it to fill her being, the coursing of her soul a crushing tsunami of raw power. She understood, then.

"Good match, brother." His confusion lasted but a single moment.

Her foot met shadow, and she dissolved into nothingness, a cloud of black tendrils vaporizing into the humid morning air. In the same instant, her arm shot out from the shaded earth, wrapping itself around her brother's neck and bringing him low. She surfaced, inky trails of onyx smoke wafting off her.

"Yield." He struggled for a moment before finding himself completely pinned. He tapped out. Her heart soared, and her family erupted into a chorus of boisterous cheers. Laughing, she released her brother, helping him to his feet. Sweat-stained and bloodied, the siblings embraced, grinning wide. The entire spar lasted thirty seconds.

"Congratulations are in order, Maion," he said. "A Shadow-Walker. The first of the Tou'Her to wield such a semblance."

"Many thanks brother. Without the help, it might have been quite a while before I discovered it." Mirodir's wife approached them, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement. Dabbing at his split lip with a medicinal cloth, she shook her head in mock disapproval.

"I am unhurt Elli," he tried, attempting to block her advance. She ignored him, aiding him despite his protests.

"I do not care what you think, Miri. I joined this family against my better judgement, so you are going to suffer the consequences." Wiping away the crystallized blood, she shot Maion a small grin. "That was well fought. You gave him quite the challenge." Bowing her head in thanks, Maion relished Mirodir's exasperated face. Recently returned from an expedition with the Banshees, Ellilara doted on her life-companion with unsparing frequency. Their love was an uncommon one among the eldar of Il-Kaithe, but one they treasured all the same.

Maion returned to the other Tou'Her, accepting hugs from Phyladra and Asuriel, who, like Ellilara, also returned from duty among the Banshees.

"Well fought, sister," Phyladra said.

"And although we've yet to discover our semblance-" Asuriel continued.

"Your struggle has inspired us." Phyladra finished. _Twins_, Maion thought with a smile. Autarch Elladar sat amongst the jubilation, his face contorted into one of undisguised confusion and astonishment.

"Are you unwell, my Lord?" Maion asked, approaching him.

"I-" He started, before stopping, unsure of how to continue. "I have many questions," he finished. She laughed, the sound like the ringing strums of a harp.

"You are the first outsider to have witnessed such an event. Consider yourself… fortunate." He nodded, brow still furrowed. "Elliara is almost done with my brother. I'm sure he will be available to speak with you shortly." As if surfacing from a lake, Elladar's confusion vanished.

"Ah. I would, but as I said, I have my own reasons for attending. The primary one among them is to speak with you."

"Me, my Lord?" Maion asked, caught off-balance.

"Yes." He began to speak again before Mirodir addressed the family.

"Tonight, we celebrate Maion's achievement with a banquet!" The Tou'Her cheered, smiles bright and shining in the rising sun. "As you are aware, Lord Elladar has joined us for this auspicious occasion. Let us extend our hospitality towards him." The sound of polite applause met this, many of the Tou'Her extending gracious nods in his direction.

"This isn't quite what I expected." Elladar said, confiding in Maion. She rolled her eyes, the swell of her accomplishment still bearing her heart aloft.

"That is what sets us apart Lord," she said. "We are an unpredictable lot."

"That, and the Soul-Wielding," he said with a bemused grin.

"And the Soul-Wielding," Maion agreed.

* * *

Soft laughter filled the dining halls of the Tou'Her compound, and Maion sipped at her summervine as she watched the death of the day-cycle. Her stomach full on grains and fruit, she enjoyed cousin Kuril's music as its strings washed over her. Another wave of amusement crashed over her, no doubt the result of one of Uncle Garnet's ribald stories. The banquet had been a pleasant one, even if the looming spectre of Elladar hung over the proceedings. She sighed, adjusting the platinum bangles that adorned her wrist and complimented her slim-cut black dress. His arrival had intrigued her, but they had been mired in celebrations all day. As if summoning him with her thoughts, he appeared on the balcony behind her, hands clasped behind his back.

"Your brother is wondering after your presence," He said, unmoving. She gestured him to approach, unstirring from her place on a reclining couch.

"My brother can wait. I needed some peace."

"I am sorry for disturbing you then," he said. Instead of replying, she took a sip of summervine, the taste sweet and rich. She set the vine flute on a table beside her.

"Think nothing of it, my Lord. My family is the largest one seen in countless passes, and that does not come without its headaches." Sitting beside her, Elladar smiled, running a hand through his hair.  
"In all my life, I have never seen a thing like it."

"We are unique," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And that is why we are who we are." Examining her summervine, she smiled. "Do you hate us as well?" The question caught him off-guard, and he blinked at her brazen response. "See? We are direct, where others are circuitous. We hide little of ourselves, we Tou'Her."

"I suppose that is true enough." Elladar said. "You accepted me into the compound with no reservations."

"We had little choice. You are an Autarch, and the Tou'Her are a family of warriors. It is not in our nature to disobey you," she said with a small laugh. "Though you have not answered my question."

"...I do not hate you. Though judging by the manner in which you posed the question, I suppose my answer is meaningless." He watched the false sun set, igniting the sky into a bursting bowl of citrus. "Your family has produced warriors the likes of which haven't been seen in… millennia. Yet you are born of mon'keigh." Maion's eyes narrowed.

"We prefer that term go unspoken in the compound."

"Ah. I apologize," he said, bowing his head.

"You misunderstand, Lord. You knew her only as the Traveller, the Soul-Wielder. A mysterious child arriving under a tree in the Garden of Isha. Calling her a mon'keigh is understandable, but inaccurate. There are mon'keigh, and there are humans." Maion smiled. "She was no mon'keigh." Sighing, Elladar considered her words.

"I'm not sure I understand the difference," he replied.

"The gulf between them is wide and massive," Maion said, wearing an even smile.

"The display in your training grounds this morning…" he started, before trailing off. "I thought I understood what your family is capable of."

"Uncle Obsidian informed you then?" She asked, once more partaking of her summervine. Elladar looked at her.

"He is Lossamdir now."

"He may be an Exarch, but he is family above all else. Even if his armor has wrought him into something else, he is still my beloved Uncle." She sighed. "In truth, him succumbing to his war-mask grieved us to no end. Many of the Tou'Her have walked the Path of the Warrior their whole lives without doing so, and a few believed it to be impossible. After that day, his wife and daughter walked the Path of the Mourner."

"This word… wife?" Elladar inquired.

"Female life-companion. Among many other things, the Soul-Wielder brought her culture along with her. Ask Aunt Hyliodora for the specifics, if you care to learn more. As it is, most of Il-Kaithe regard human culture with disdain and scorn. And if she had hailed from the Imperium, they would be correct to do so." Sighing, she stood, placing her drink beside her. Leaning against the railing, she unbound her hair, tearing the net of gold away.

"Her claims-"

"Were well-vetted," she said, watching dusk steal itself upon Dolone. "We, the Tou'Her… we stand in the crucible of history. All my siblings, my family," she said , her eyes boring into Elladar, "we are the answer the eldar have sought for millennia. Not the expected one, but an answer all the same. And while you do not hate us, the idea disgusts you."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"I stand behind every word I say. Is it mere coincidence that the only growing family of Eldar on Il-Kaithe is born from human stock?"

"It is the lack of waystones that concerns me." Elladar returned, returning her gaze. "Every eldar born since the Fall has borne one, to ward off She-Who-Thirsts."

"And that the God of Vengeance Ynnead might come again," Maion finished. "While our souls are Eldar, none of us have once felt her gaze. We are not like our kin. We follow the Paths not out of necessity, but of loyalty and duty. We live for each other and for the survival of our kind." She glanced at the Autarch. "We do not require them."

"Yet Rhona sings within the Infinity Circuit," Elladar countered.

"Aunt Rhona died in her armor, slain as she single-handedly cut down a horde of vile greenskins. She would have rather leapt into the Eye of Terror than remove the spirit stones that inhabited her storied armor. Remember that, Autarch. We are born of a human woman, that is true. But even the Soul-Wielder's allegiance belonged solely to Il-Kaithe. To her new people," Maion said, smiling. She watched her commander's features contort, wrestling thought into being.

"You speak fondly of her," he said.

"Grandmother was a wonderful woman." Maion replied. "I knew that, even though her disappearance left me little time to bond with her." Shifting in his seat, Elladar considered her words.

"That reminds me of the reason I sought you out." She looked at him, anticipation arcing her eyebrow. "Your family has become intertwined with the fate of Il-Kaithe."

"How so?" Maion asked, returning to her summervine.

"Farseer Sylvis has foreseen your involvement in a crucial stage in the upcoming war against the Arch-Foe. The fate of our people hangs in the balance." Straightening, Maion nearly dropped her flute.

"Truly?"

"I would not be here if it were otherwise."

"Just me, my Lord?" The prospect concerned her. She had never entered battle without her comrades from the Shadowed Sword.

"Not quite. I am forming a war-party of Il-Kaithe's most accomplished warriors. Sylvis warned me of a grave danger, and though the other Autarchs may scoff, I trust his vision. " Hearing this, Maion felt her war-mask calling for her. _A mission directly under the Autarch… proposed by none other than Uncle Sylvis!_

"Is this related to his prophecy?" Maion asked. Elladar shook his head.

"I asked the same thing, but he did not clarify. The only hint he could summon was that of a jester's mask."

"The Black Library?" Maion asked, fingers tightening around her flute. Though her walk on the Seer's path was brief, the mask of the Harlequin rarely held another meaning.

"It is entirely possible."

"And what of my family? I find it strange you would only approach me." Elladar's hands folded into a meditative knot.

"Your family is engaged on many fronts. I could not possibly requisition them all, though I would very much like to. However, I have asked Lossamdir to lead you, an offer he leapt at." Her heart nearly soared free of her breast. She hadn't seen her soft-spoken uncle in many passes.

"Then count me among his warriors." Maion said, showing no hesitation. I will report to you tomorrow, war-mask donned."

"I am pleased to hear that. My faith in you is well-rewarded." Grinning, Maion extended her palm. Elladar looked at the outstretched hand with palpable confusion. "I am unfamiliar with this gesture."

"You might not know it, Lord, but you have done this family a great service. You witnessed one of our most treasured rituals. But more importantly, you have shown us trust. Regarded as we are on Il-Kaithe, such a gesture will not be forgotten." Elladar smiled at that.

"I am… pleased to hear that."

"This is the last thing Grandmother taught me before she left. It is a handshake, an indication of trust among the humans of Remnant. You simply take ahold of my hand… and shake." Elladar obeyed, albeit with a hint of trepidation. Seizing the initiative, Maion grasped his hand and shook it, beaming. A smile reached across his face as well.

"How peculiar," he said. Maion laughed.

"Enjoy the banquet, Lord. I will rejoin you in a moment." Nodding, he did so, turning to descend the balcony's jutting steps. Taking her summervine between two slender fingers, Maion drank the rest of the heady liquid as she looked out over Dolone.

_The Black Library. Perhaps I will finally learn of your fate, Grandmother._

* * *

**A/N: Alright everyone! People have been asking me about what Maion and the eldar folk have been up to, so I thought I'd get around to it. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting her to be so popular (as the knee-jerk reactions to eldar seem to be 'XENOS FILTH'), but I digress.**

**I wonder who this mysterious 'Soul-Wielder' person could be? :D**

**Please let me know what you guys think! I love to hear feedback!**

**Review Replies:**

**Guest: Aw, thanks so much for your kind words!**

**The Walrus of Eden: Not making any promises! ;)**

**Inquisitor Marek: Thanks so much! It's something I work pretty hard at, because once I lose sight of the characters, the work as a whole will fall apart. I just do my best to avoid flanderizing them (i.e. no pun-spewing Yang) and keep their core character intact.**

**Sigurd: It's one of the last things that cause her conflict, considering Yang is such a stark reminder of who she used to be.**

**OBSERVER01: I think you'll like it!**

**snoogenz: That may or may not be something I revisit later… :)**

**Kiyoushu: Still… ick.**

**Skepsis Forever: Weiss is disgusted with herself, and Yang still can't accept who her friend has become. Also, I noted this on SB/SV, but regarding 'Yang-as-an-Inquisitor' thing, that was yet more manipulation on Weiss' part. She has _much_ different plans. As for Amat, if he was smitten with Yang to the point of disobedience, she would have made note of it. Thanks so much for your regular, awesome reviews!**

**polarpwnage: I guess only time will tell, huh?**

**Darkerpaths: Horus wasn't exactly an adorkable, milk-drinking, cookie-eating, optimist, but I see your point. XD**

**Magisking: That would be interesting indeed!**

**SixPerfections: Maybe this chapter addressed your theories about the Eldar. :D I agree with you on the morality spectrum too. Weiss could dominate Yang's mind if she wanted to, but that would probably break her. She already feels nauseous having to do it on regular Imperium folk, so having to do the same for Yang would probably be the straw that broke the camel's back. Thanks so much for your awesome reviews! I love hearing from you!**

**Darth nylon544: Hey man, good to see you! As for your concerns, I have a few responses: 1 - this is actually a good point, but it would probably roll of Yang's back… it doesn't matter if Weiss indirectly saved the city, she'd still be fucking pissed that the 'saviors' are puritan pyromaniacs. 2 - It wasn't necessary, although I probably should have made that clearer. The baddies completely spent themselves trying to take down Shao-la. 3 - You're right, they can't change the Imperium overnight. 4 - Amat's comments about Ember Celica are definitely not supposed to sound like he regards them as archeotech or something. There are LEAGUES of differences between Remnati tech and DAoT tech.**

**OnyxIdol: Thanks! If I coddled the reader with too much WAFF, it just wouldn't feel genuine to me.**

**Nemris: Right? Thanks so much for your kind words regarding the characters. It's something I work really hard at. :)**

**Yoshtar: Hey, that's an interesting theory! If you want, you could add it to the WMG page on this story's TVTropes page! I guess time will tell if it's correct or not…**

**Sixthdaemonfox: Magos Tyrham is one of the coolest OCs in this story in terms of what he's willing and able to do… thanks to his relationship with the Lady Inquisitor. As for Yang-wishing-for-Blake, it's more of a 'if you're here, I want to find you' thing then a 'you better hurry up and die so I can find you' thing.**

**LegionOfMisfits: Hehe! I hope it's hate in the 'boy, she's being a huuuuuuge bitch and it's frustrating to see' sense instead of the 'she's super annoying' sense!**

**soupie13941: Wow, thanks so much for your praise! It means a lot, as this chapter was pretty tough to do.**

**ChaosProductions: I really can't properly express my gratitude for your review. After having a few rough days, getting a big ol' wall of text praising the story really picked me up. Not only that, but the three things you mentioned (accessibility, expansion, characters) are the things I worked hardest on, which really meant a lot to see them appreciated. I'm so flattered you think so highly of my story, _especially_ putting it on a level with RWBY Season 3 hype. Seriously, thank you so, so, much for this review. Stuff like this always makes all the hours spent writing, fretting, and editing this story worth it. So, in short, thank you. It means more then you know. PS: It's not a direct reference, two of the Sisters are actually blood related. :)**

**Gafgar: Eesh, can do.**

**Heitomos: Um… Yang actually has been fitting 40k shells into Ember Celica. They're just regular shotgun shells though, nothing special. As for Yang getting a sword, it just seemed gamey to me to just drop a powerfist on Yang.**

* * *

**Thanks so much, everyone! I love you all, and can't wait for you to see what's coming next!**


	35. Of Memories

**Chapter 34: Of Memories**

"_Repeat after me, little one: 'Exitus Acta Probat' - The Outcome Justifies the Deed." - Instructor Palla, of the Vindicare Temple_

Yang gave a cry of effort as her fist connected with the sandbag, the tape on her knuckles torn by the constant assault and her unyielding aura. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she grinned. It felt good to be active again. It had been a month since Shao-la, and two weeks since her lungs patched themselves up.

Resetting herself, she struck again and again, her fists a blur of lethal force. The bag shook and rattled on its chain, suffering her blows without complaint. The training gym was empty, just the way she liked it. Although... not so much a 'gym' as it was a spare nook where the Woadian militia veterans kept their lifting gear. Only a single flickering bulb kept the worn barbells and bench-press illuminated, their shadows playing against the walls. A few extinguished candles sat in the corner below a list of names etched on the metal walls. Yang didn't know if they were family from Woadia or fallen comrades.

It was the peak of the _Ascendant Dawn_'s night-cycle, and most of her friends slept in the barracks. But that was for the better. Here, she could work out in peace, away from the increasingly wondrous stares turned her way.

Plus, after a grueling psychic training session with Weiss, working out was always the best way to unwind. She hadn't made much progress, even if she was able to open a connection to the warp without much effort. Doing so never failed to set her teeth on edge, but having her friend help and guide her along made it easier to bear. Ever since the end of their fight (and Weiss got some decent sleep), her spirits had improved, asking Yang questions about her life in the Imperium, studying a large, black-skinned tome or scribbling on a notepad. They'd even chatted about life on Remnant. It was nice to hear about her friend's lives, even though not being able to share in them sunk her heart into her stomach.

Yes, Weiss was… tolerable now, even if a dusting of frost had surfaced between them. Yang remembered her friend's threats, the whorling abyss of her aura as her fists rang against it. She wasn't done with her though, not by a long shot. _I'll just have to train harder_, she thought, her fist smacking the sandbag hard enough to bounce it off the ceiling.

But the Inquisitor was not what kept Yang awake, what sent her to the training gym… no, it was the nightmares. Though Weiss' glyphs helped, the whispers in her dreams had returned. Horrid, entrancing, blood-tongued whispers. She took a swing from her canteen, gagging on the staid taste.

"Feh," she said, spitting. _Everything tastes the same._ _I can't even remember the last time I ate real food!_ Just the thought made her stomach rumble. There were rumors the Ranshan civvies managed to grill some rats, but Yang was never close enough to the hold to get one. She sighed, looking at her hands. While her knuckles were unharmed, the wrappings were tattered and falling apart.

She searched her short's pockets for her tape before realizing she'd left it in her rucksack. Turning to retrieve it, she heard the grinding screech of the bulkhead opening. But when the rusted door fell open, its frame was empty.

"Hello?" She asked, a sound that filled the small room, echoing against steel walls.

"Ah. My bad." There was soft click, and Amat materialized in the training gym, lithe muscles revealing themselves from nothingness. His rifle hung from his back. "We meet again, Yang." Laughing, she gave him a wave.

"Hey man! You trying to scare the shit out of me?"

"Not really, sorry. Forgot that I have it on all the time." He stood in the doorway, still wearing his red-visored mask. Resting a hand on her hip and waving him forward with the other, she gave him a sly grin.

"Step into my office! I didn't know you were on board. Well that, or you'd forgotten about me." He chuckled at that, resting his rifle against the wall as he entered the gym, shutting the door behind him.

"Definitely haven't forgotten. Just trying to find time in my… busy schedule."

"Really? Busy schedule?" Yang asked. He shrugged, taking a seat on one of the benches. "Playing up the whole 'mysterious assassin' bit, I see," she said, still smiling.

"I am indeed an assassin. Trained on Holy Terra by the priests of the Vindicare Temple, a branch of the Officio Assassinorum." He stopped, looking at Yang to gauge her response. She didn't have one,

"Well… shit, man," she said eventually. "We're getting right into it then?" _If he's gonna lay all the cards on the table like that, he's more curious than I thought! _Amat nodded. Laughing, Yang scooped up her rucksack.

"Alright! I like the attitude. Normally, this game is called 'Never Have I Ever', and requires a _lot _more booze, but we'll have to make some adjustments." She fished around in her rucksack before her fingers clasped around a stoppered hip flask.

"I… don't follow."

"Don't worry about it, buddy." She swirled the flask around with a grin, treasuring the full sloshing sound it made. "Courtesy of the Major. Since you want to be all stubborn about your mask, this will have to do. You listening?" Amat nodded. "Alright. Before you ask a question, you have to take a drink. One drink means one question, and the game goes until the flask is empty. Or I get bored."

"You're serious," he said.

"Completely," Yang whispered, eyes wide with mock gravity. "Since you already laid out the whole 'who you are and what you do' question, that means I'm behind. Bottoms up!" She took a drink, savoring the fruity tinge of the Major's finest. "Your turn," she said, handing him the flask. He looked at it. Then her. Then back to the flask.

"Is this... amasec?" He asked.

"Maybe," she said with a mischievous wink. "Take a sip and find out." He took the flask from her, looking it over with reverent care. After a few seconds, he withdrew an apparatus (a fancy-looking straw) and stuck it into the open neck. Yang threw her hands up in exasperation. "Damn it, Amat! You're impossible." She was hoping to at least get a glimpse, but her own curiosity would go unfulfilled for now.

"I make do." He sampled the brew, and was immediately wracked by a coughing fit. Yang erupted with laughter, clutching her stomach as he pounded on his chest. "What… what in the name of the Emperor?" Wiping a tear from her eye, she gave him a nudge.

"What you've never had alcohol before?"

"I-" he coughed again, unable to form a complete sentence. "No! Not that can I remember! You drink this?" He asked, holding the flask as if it would bite him. "On _purpose_?"

"It's an acquired taste." Shrugging, Yang beamed at him. "But them's the rules." Sighing, Amat capped the flask and tossed it back to her. Another rumbling cough took him. "Alright then you party animal, what's your question?" She asked. He considered this for a moment before meeting her leering grin.

"How do you know the Lady Inquisitor? I know your first meeting was not in Elodia's orbit." _Oh, yeesh. _Her smile faltered, and she rubbed the back of her head, letting strands of golden hair fill her fingers. "Is… something wrong?" _Yes._

"No… it's just…" Yang sighed. _Should I tell him?_ She weighed her options. _He already knows I'm a psyker and he's still curious. Can I trust him?_ _Will he think I'm crazy?_ "I don't think you'll believe me if I told you. Sometimes I don't even believe it myself."

"I've seen a lot, Yang." Amat said. "Whatever you say won't surprise me." He coughed into his hand again, despite his mask blocking the way. Watching him, a half-smile reached her lips. She shook her head, mind made up. For better or worse, she'd trust him. _He helped save my life. Being honest and open is the least I can do._ Once more, she reached into her rucksack.

"You say that… but I'll just show you instead." Finding the worn leather edges of her wallet, she removed the photo of team RWBY, handing it to Amat between two fingers. He took it in his hands, slowly, reverently. Once he realized what he was holding, the picture started to shake.

"I was wrong," he said with a weak chuckle. "This… I did not expect this. That cannot be my Lady."

"I've thought the same," Yang said, the words as heavy as an orbital barrage. "Her name is Weiss Schnee. That," she said, "is my sister Ruby, and this is my best friend, Blake Belladonna. Secretly a faunus," she said, lump-throated nostalgia threatening to swallow her words. It was all too much for Amat.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Around eight months ago, I lived on world called Remnant." She waved his question away before he could ask it. "It didn't belong to the Imperium. In fact, it's not even in the galaxy. At least, that's what Weiss said." Amat looked at her. "Ah… shit. I just realized that raised a lot more questions than it answered."

"That's quite an understatement. Emperor," he whispered.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Anyways, Weiss was never the friendly sort, but we got her to open up after awhile. She fell pretty hard for my sister." Yang shuddered. _Now __**there's**_ _an understatement._ Weiss' love for Ruby was cute on Remnant, but like everything else, the Imperium had morphed it into a twisted parody of its former self. "Together, we saved the world. Hard to believe at the time, especially since Ruby…" She swallowed, and forced herself to say the words, "Since Ruby sacrificed herself to make it happen. To me, the world just looked like it was crumbling. Throne," she said, not realizing the words that tumbled out of her lips, "we were just _kids_." They were quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Amat said, breaking the silence. "I don't know what kind of threats you faced, but to put such a burden on you all… you must have been exemplary warriors." Yang chuckled, punching him on the shoulder.

"You've seen half of us in action already. Not much of a guess on your part. But," she said, turning the flask over in her hands, "thanks, Amat." He hunched over in his seat.

"Of course. It's still a lot to take in, though." His head tilted towards Yang, the questions palpable on his invisible face. "Wait… then are you the same age as the Inquisitor?"

"If you think you're gonna sneak an extra question in on me, think again," Yang said with a smirk. Amat shook his head, his voice tinged with mock disappointment. "If you wanna know, drink and you'll find out," Yang said. His exasperated groan was enough to conjure a grin. "Hey man, I didn't make the rules."

"I remember otherwise," he countered, pointing.

"Eh, details," She said, her throwing her hands up in defeat with a wide smile. "But since it's my game, you'll just have to suffer." Amat said nothing. "You know, I have the distinct impression you're rolling your eyes at me," Yang said, trying to pierce the impenetrable crimson of his visor. "It's kinda creepy that you won't take that mask off. It's hard to get a bead on you when I don't even know what you look like."

"Maybe that's my intention," Amat suggested, his voice a rumble as it slid from his mask.

"You know, that'll be my question, smart-ass... why the mask?" Yang asked. Jabbing a finger at him, her lips parted into a confident smirk. "It's coming off one of these days. No secrets for you, assassin-man."

"That's hardly fair, considering everything you just told me," he said. "You've heaved everything I've known for the past few years into turmoil. I have questions as well." Yang considered that, and met his gaze. They held the look for a long moment before glancing down at the flask that sat between them.

As one, they launched forward, hands outstretched.

"It's mine!" Yang cried. She was faster, but Amat was closing in, and she only managed to knock it aside. Rolling, he leapt to his fours before throwing a vicious kick at Yang.

She caught his foot and hurled him to the other side of the gym. Tumbling and rolling, he skidded to a halt against the wall. They were silent for a moment before they erupted into laughter.

"By the Emperor you're fast." Amat said, staring at the single light that hung above them. Scooping up her flask, she went to help him up. "Strong too. Emperor," he wheezed.

"How's the floor taste? Like defeat?" She said, beaming. His hand fell across his mask in mock shame. Giggling, she helped him to his feet. Amat accepted her help gracefully.

"Seriously though, you are _determined_ when you want to be."

"Damn straight," Yang said, taking a swig from the flask. She settled herself on the lifting bench, before crossing her legs and folding her hands in her best impression of the classic 'heiress' pose. "Now, do tell Amat... why are you so adamant about leaving your mask on?" Sighing, he leaned against the wall.

"It isn't much different than the answer I gave you in Shao-la."

"Ah," she said, "but now you've told me you're an assassin for the vindy-something temple or whatever. You need to elaborate."

"Fair enough," he admitted. "The mask is a reflection of my mission. I remove it when I've completed it, and not before. When the Lady Inquisitor acquired me, I donned it. It's been on ever since."

"Yeesh," Yang said, recoiling. _Now there's some dedication._ "You must reek under there."

"I wouldn't know," Amat replied. "Although my wargear has a complete suite of hygiene functions, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"Damn. Your temple really thought the whole thing through."

"Of course. One member of our order waited on his prey's arrival for six years. Unmoving. Perfectly still." His head turned towards her. "Wouldn't do to have his teeth rotting out of his mouth, would it?" Yang was still trying to process the whole 'six years' comment. _That's... that's..._

"That's insane! How can any person sit still for that long?" She blurted, the flask in her hand long forgotten.

"Patience. Diligence. Duty," Amat said, the words rehearsed and well-practiced. "All operative Vindicares are able to enter a trance of sorts. Our bodies shut down. We require little sustenance and less air. And like that... we wait."

"Terra..." She whispered. "You can do it too?" He nodded.

"Of course." Yang shuddered. _Staying still for so long..._ She knew she'd break down after minutes, let alone _years_.

"You really don't half-ass the whole 'assassin' thing," Yang breathed.

"It's who I am." Amat said, resting his head against the wall. "There is no one better." Whistling, Yang tossed him the flask. Catching it, he appraised it with surprise.

"You're not going to fight me for it?" He asked. Yang sniffed, eyes looking elsewhere.

"I slipped a few extra questions in. It's your turn." Chuckling, he stuck his straw into the flask.

He took a drink, shaking his head as he did so. "Emperor, that's nasty," he said with an audible grimace. Yang made mocking pouting noises, wiping away imaginary tears with the back of her hand. "How mature." She laughed.

"Alright, assassin-man, hit me with your best shot." Nodding, he considered his next question for a few moments.

"Your powers… this… _aura._ What is it?"

"Alright, fair question." With a wicked grin, she unleashed it. Her hair leapt from her shoulders, swelling into a rippling gold inferno. Amat stepped back, a whispered breath barely escaping his mask. "_This_ is my aura. On Remnant, every being with a soul has one, although its power can vary greatly."

"It's amazing," Amat said, stepping closer. "Your hair... it's on fire, but you don't burn."

"It's not actual fire, dummy," Yang said, giggling. "Here, see for yourself." She extended a lock of flickering hair to him. He wavered, reaching out before retreating. "Oh come on, dude." Her hand shot forward, grabbing his own and pressing her hair into it. He was silent for a moment.

"Emperor."

"Cool, huh? Now be careful. I take my hair _very_ seriously." He sifted it between his fingers, watching the ghost-flames play over his hand.

"This is your soul?" He asked, incredulous.

"Now normally I'd make you drink, but since I'm feeling generous, I'll give you that one for free." He huffed at that, still entranced by her hair. "It's the expression of my soul. The balance of both light and dark that exists within me. As a huntress, I'm able to weaponize it."

"Weaponize?" Amat asked. Smiling, she took her hair back, combing it back into place.

"Of course. You saw what I did to those traitor marines. With a single thought, I can conduct my aura wherever I choose. My weapons, my armor, my body. It protects me," she said simply.

"That's incredible. You'd lit the whole street up, but I couldn't tell that it was your hair... I thought it was some kind of psychic power." Disengaging her aura, she let her hair rest, settling into its usual mass of curls.

"They're related," Yang admitted. "Although I'm still unclear on exactly how. Weiss hasn't told me too much."

"Weiss?" Amat asked before settling himself on the bench next to her. "Oh… right. Although... you both come from the same world. It makes sense you'd share a similar power. Emperor," he said again, sighing. "It appears as though I'm in over my head." Laughing, Yang jabbed him with her elbow.

"You got that right, buddy."

"However… I haven't seen the Inquisitor's hair glow like that before," He said, turning to face her. She smiled, shaking her head. Yang never imagined she'd have to explain aura to any one in the Imperium.

"Well, aura manifests itself in different ways depending on who you are. It's what makes you unique. My best friend lived most of her life in the shadows, and could conjure a shade of herself to help her in battle. The ultimate expression of that uniqueness is called your semblance."

"Semblance?" Amat asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "So... your hair is your semblance?" Laughing, Yang shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. If you want to find out, you should drink, buddy! My generosity's expired. Although," she said, taking a drink. "It's my turn again." His head lolled against his shoulders..

"I guess it's too late for me to argue the point."

"Got that right." She relished the amasec's fire as it slid into her stomach, the taste of generic fruit on her tongue. Grinning at Amat, she decided there were worse ways to spend her time. "Alright. How long have you been an assassin?" The question didn't faze him. In fact, he seemed confused.

"I… don't understand." _Yup. Definitely confused._

"Oh come on, it's not that hard. When did you sign up for this temple thing? I mean, an assassin-temple is kinda weird, but I guess that's par for the course in the Imperium." He folded his hands together, staring at them intently.

"I've… always been a part of the temple."

"Really?" Yang prodded. "Nothing?" He shook his head.

"There is training. The tests, the drills, the prayers, the chants, the lessons. There is the conclusion of my lessons. Then there is the Lady Inquisitor." His red visor sank to the floor before meeting Yang's gaze. "There is nothing else." Yang was taken aback by his response.

"Did they brainwash you or something?"

"All assassins of the Vindicare Temple undergo hypno-indoctrination every two years," Amat offered. "Barring assignments and missions, of course. Not quite 'brainwashing', but a close enough analog I suppose." She shuddered again, once again facing down another hidden horror of the Imperium. She expected nothing less, but his acceptance of it was the worst part.

"And you don't care?" She demanded.

"It is... who I am," he said, his words obdurate, their footing ponderous and hesitant. "I serve the Emperor and the Imperium. Although… the Lady Inquisitor is very insistent I remain at her side." Standing, he parsed the training gym, walking over to the small shrine of names. "It's been four years since I've seen the Temple."

"It's been a long time since your last one," Yang realized.

"I've been suffering headaches," Amat allowed, his hand running under a name etched upon the wall. "I recall only a single word not taught to me by the Temple or the Lady Inquisitor… _Epitaphum_." Turning, a half of his visor peered over his shoulder. "I don't know what it is. What it means. He rubbed at the back of his head, kneading the latches of his mask. "I don't know what will happen once my mission ends, but I've been finding a return to Terra," he paused, fingers running over each other as he searched for the right word. "_Uninviting_."

"Well," Yang started, caught off-balance by his explanation. "I was gonna ask what your real name is, but I guess that would be pointless, huh?" She said with a weak chuckle. It was all so tough to wrap her head around. Amat seemed so… normal for what he was. _Where he lives._

"I'm afraid so. Amat's the first 'name' I've ever worn. It would be a truthful answer."

"Alright, alright, I think I'm getting the jist of your temple." _And it gives me the massive fucking creeps._ "Here," she said, tossing him the flask. "Your turn. I'll do my best not to be so depressing."

"Very well." Drinking the amasec, he suppressed a small shudder, muscles rippling under the soft synskin.

"Doing a little better, buddy." Yang said, beaming as her eyes parsed the assassin.

"It's still vile. I've... adjusted." She stuck her tongue out, and he dismissed her taunt with a wave of his hand. "Very well. If you and the Inquisitor grew up on the same planet, how did you come across the Imperium? And why does she appear so much older than you if you attended school together?"

"That's two questions assassin-man," Yang pointed out. Amat took another drink in response. Whistling in approval, she gave him a thumbs up. "Look at you! Little more practice, and you can join the big leagues."

"I didn't do that for fun, Yang." Rolling her eyes, she acquiesced.

"Alright, don't get your panties in a wad." He cocked his head, thrown by the expression. "Never mind. Now, everything I've told you… it's been pretty crazy so far, right?"

"Like I said before - that's an understatement," he replied.

"Come on Amat, I've got to make things suspenseful, don't I?" He chuckled, and she joined him. She liked his laugh. It made the horror stories that spilled out from his mask seem small and insignificant. "Well, to put things bluntly... I died." He considered this in silence, as he was wont to do.

"Seriously?"

"As the grave." She snickered to herself. Not her best, but it was serviceable. At least she could laugh at it all. Either way, it was lost on Amat, who did his best to steady himself on a rack of barbells.

"How is that possible? You must be mistaken."

"I'm not. In fact, when Weiss told me, I had the same reaction." Running a hand through her hair, she leaned back on her seat, studying the rivets in the ceiling. "I appeared out of the blue on some random world. Woadia. Just…" she waved her hand, "woke up. Like I'd been sleeping. But I wasn't in Vale anymore. I wasn't even on Remnant."

"You don't remember being taken anywhere?" Amat asked. She shook her head.

"Nope. Nothing. I did my thing for awhile, doing my best to take everything in stride." She sighed. "I'm in over my head," she said, smiling at Amat. "I thought I was living out some bizarre punishment. And then I met Weiss."

"She told you of your demise."

"She went to my funeral, Amat!" Yang said, throwing her hands up. "Do you realize how insane that sounds? She _screamed_ when she saw me. And then I remembered. It wasn't more than a hazy dream." She huffed. "My own... Epitaphum. White Fang agents… terrorists," she supplied, "they drugged me up and jumped me in an alley." She'd never said it out loud before, and doing so made her skin crawl.

"And then you woke up," he said, disbelief weighing down his words.

"And then I woke up," Yang said. "I know how it sounds. But I'm not lying to you," she continued, turning her head to look at him. "That's not how I roll. Plus, teasing you is fun enough."

"You don't strike me as a deceiver, Yang. It's just that it's a very… fantastical story."

"Don't I know it," she said, smirking. "I'm just trying to answer your questions, here."

"It's appreciated, but two drinks means two answers," he said, his finger tapping the flask's stopper.

"Damn," Yang said, snapping her fingers, "you caught me." They shared a brief chuckle. "What was it again?"

"Are you and… Weiss the same age? My Lady never speaks of her youth or where she's from. The reasoning seems all too clear now, but I know she must be ancient. Her face does not show it, but I've been trained to notice things about the way a person conducts themselves. The Inquisitor walks as though the weight of eons is on her shoulders." Yang shivered at his words. They were a sentiment that mirrored hers almost a hundred percent. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. You must have had a good teacher then." Amat cocked his head once more. "Weiss lived a lot longer than I did. The last birthday she remembers on Remnant was her sixty-first. I died when I was twenty-two."

"Then she died as well," he asked.

"Everyone dies, Amat," Yang replied, the corner of her lips turned into a knowing smirk. He sighed, resting his face in his palm, a reaction that brought her a touch of mirth.

"You know what I meant."

"I do, but since I wasn't exactly around, I'm not sure. She doesn't remember either. What she knows is that she woke up much younger than she remembered, on some random planet in the Segmentum Pacificus."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised any more," Amat said, shaking his head. "The dead living once more, a human planet that's not in the Imperium, a mysterious power, age reversal…" He trailed off, staring up at the squat ceiling. "It's quite a lot to take in."

"I know it is," Yang conceded. "But it feels good to share." Sitting up, she tossed her roll of tape at him. It bounced off his head, and he caught it in an unflinching hand. "So thanks for coming by. It's nice to talk to someone about all this stuff. Besides just Weiss, I mean. It's liberating." He returned her tape to her.

"I'm glad you think so. You've been… quite enlightening."

"Oh, so you didn't come to just ogle at me in my workout clothes?" Yang teased, her lips turned into leering, knowing smile.

"I… what?" She neglected to mention the opposite had been the real case.

"I mean, I don't blame you, but covering it up by trying to play my game?" She clucked her tongue. "That's low, man." Chuckling, Amat recovered his rifle, slinging it across his shoulder.

"Well, at least I didn't accept your invitation to spar," he said. "I would hate to damage your over-inflated ego." Laughing, Yang leapt to her feet.

"Oh, you've done it now, Amat!" Cracking her knuckles, she advanced on him. "Come on, don't run! How about a first-hand aura demonstration?" Instead of replying, he returned her flask, tossing it over his shoulder as his other hand fell on the bulkhead. She caught it effortlessly.

"I'm afraid I have to depart for now." Slouching, Yang crossed her arms.

"_Riiiiiiight_. Busy schedule and all." He nodded.

"I could use some time to meditate on your responses. You've given me... a lot to think about." Yang blinked.

"No more questions before you go?" _I didn't scare him off, did I? _He hesitated, his foot stepping back to face her before returning to its place.

"I have many questions, but I need to figure out exactly what they are," he said, his smile invisible. "Although I almost forgot… I wanted you to have this." Unpacking a slim sheet of paper from his belt, he handed it to her. It was rumpled, frayed, and carefully folded. Yang opened it, and what she found delighted her. It was the prayer-sheet she'd found on Shao-la, now complete with an illustration. It bore the little girl they'd met, eyes closed in graceful benediction as she looked out over her the reconstruction of her city.

"This is… very good," Yang said, her finger tracing the miniature ink scaffolding. "They didn't teach this at the Temple, did they?"

"No," Amat admitted. "It's my own doing. My own prayer to Shao-la, and the civilians we found. Rescued."

"Thank you." His head dipped in acknowledgement.

"I know that flask still has another few games in it. Save it, would you? I think I'd like to do this again." He opened the bulkhead, and it creaked under the sudden movement.

"Me too. You might be good for now, but I have one last question." He paused, his foot hovering over the doorframe. "What's the real reason you decided to find me?"

"You make my head hurt." He tapped a button on his wrist and vanished before her eyes.

Yang blew a strand of woven gold out of her eyes. _Men_, she thought with a grin. _Endlessly fascinating, endlessly mysterious… endlessly dense._

* * *

**A/N: A fun little chat between a couple of badasses. :) Hope you guys enjoyed! Remember, if you have comments, questions, or concerns, leave a review or PM me! Always happy to answer your questions.**

**I have to say, it feels like I've gotten a bunch of new readers recently. Always makes me happy to see new faces around here! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**Heitomos: You wrote a mini-fic? Haha, I'd love to see that some day!**

**reality deviant: Thanks, dude!**

**The Walrus of Eden: Now that's something I haven't heard before… how interesting.**

**DanAbnettFan1997: I really don't understand how Blake can be Maion… Maion is her own person, an OC, yet descended from a Remnanite. Perhaps the Soul-Wielder is Blake, but I guess it all remains to be seen.**

**Guest: My thoughts precisely (regarding screwing with people). Thanks for your kind words!**

**Kiyoushu: Hahahaha now that would be something, wouldn't it? :D You make me blush with all your praise.**

**OBSERVER01: It's certainly possible… I wonder what's gonna happen?**

**Scot911: Well put! Time will tell if you're correct or not… or if I've even decided to answer the question. :)**

**Xyston: Thanks so much! I'm so thrilled you're enjoying it!**

**ZalrokCSoulDeath: Thanks for your praise, but I have no idea what "Really sad about Daniel dying from Cyndago, he was cool and awesome and one of the best guys. Poor Mark…" means...**

**Legion of Misfits: Thank you!**

**coalface: Nora would certainly make quite an… impression among the eldar, wouldn't she?**

**snoogenz: Remember, the Soul-Wielder is not CONFIRMED to be Blake, but she's still on the table.**

**OnyxIdol: It's possible!**

**mr. anonymous: Thanks for all the info! I figured the Tou'Her deserve a bit of a break, being the weirdos that they are. But yeah, I'm working through the series right now… not a huge fan, I'll admit.**

**Mintskittle: Hey, cool theory! Glad you're investing so much thought into my little fic. :)**

**Guest: Thanks so much for giving me a try! I'll do my best to keep living up to your expectations. :D**

**orion0905: Thanks, dude! Always cool having new readers!**

**soupie13941: Hahaha I'm flattered! Black Library, take note… But seriously, glad you're enjoying it so much. As for your own writing, you just have to practice. Only way it'll get done!**

**Gafgar: Yes, the Il-Kaithe hardliners are frothing at the mouth over it all. :)**

**goldfencer: Thanks so much for stopping by! :D Cool theory, I'll admit!**

**Nemris: All will be revealed in time… :D Thanks for your reviews!**

**LordGhostStriker: Now _that_ would be kick-ass. Thanks for dropping all those reviews!**


	36. Bringers of War

**A/N: And so begins the Uriel arc! Praise the Emperor! **_**Á**_**uh! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 35: Bringers of War**

"_I have sworn oaths by the number. I'm bound to the Emperor, the Mechanicus, my family. But when I march to war, the earth shakes, my foes tremble, mountains are leveled and thousands die. When I march, the battle obeys me and me alone." - Princep Yaphet Ben-Hamutal_

The glass cage again. Yang hollered and screamed until she was hoarse, desperate to escape.

no no no no no no let me out let me out

She knew it was dream, but she couldn't escape, couldn't wake up. Above her, a searing light boiled away what little air was left to her. Suffocating, she coughed and screamed and wailed as her punches slacked and scraped against the glass.

let me wake up stop this i hate this let me out

Nothing. Nothing worked, and her lungs crumpled, constricting her throat into a straw. Pain filled her, an unending agony that set every nerve alight. The pain was RED RED RED RED LIKE ROSES

Snapping her head around, she saw herself standing outside the cage, bound in the body of a child.

help me

She screamed, but she only sprayed dried blood against her cage. Little-Yang tapped the spattered glass, and it shattered apart, spraying glass into her little braid.

Tears of gratitude flowed over her cheeks, and she reached out for her mirror, her savior. She couldn't reach. Little-Yang just fell farther and farther away, fingers as long as her arm wrapping around her face, the hands languid and pale as a shattered moon.

let her go

Yang bellowed, trying to drag herself from her prison, but she couldn't, her body wouldn't obey, she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't-

* * *

"Wake up, Yang!" Ros bellowed, beating her face with a pillow. Yang's eyes flung open, finding the barracks in total chaos. Klaxons blared, filling the room with a pulsing, red light. Jorvis was screaming.

"Golden Throne, do you all want to die?!" He cried, swinging his chainsword in an effort to corral his soldiers. Mael stumbled out of bed, his foot caught in the folds of the sheets that kept Soo decent. 'Move it, Guardsmen!" He bellowed. "Go, go, _go!_" Panicked cursing and dressing ensued, almost a hundred half-naked soldiers colliding and bellowing at each other.

"Ros, what the fuck is happening?" Yang said, crawling into her shirt.

"We dropped out of warp early! We're in the middle of a fucking shit storm!" The _Ascendant Dawn _shook underneath their feet, throwing Caolin and Theni on their asses. A tinny, bored voice spilled out from the speakers.

"Attention, all hands. Decks six and seven are non-functional. Evacuate at once. Gravity generator damaged. Brace for sudden gravitational shifts." The message repeated, muted by the swelling shouts of the Woadians.

"Get to the landing bay! On the double, you stupid savages!" Jorvis bellowed, "Faster, faster! By the Emperor you're fucking slow!" Slipping into her flak armor, Yang obeyed, trying to grab what wargear she could.

Caolin buckled up, sprinting out the door as Jorvis waved him through, slapping his back as he hopped past the bulkhead. Mael was close behind, his hand slipping through Soo's.

"Roriksson, Ufgarsson, good hustle!" Jorvis said, taking count as each soldier passed him. Ros was next, buckling her helmet on when Sarge pushed her through. "Follow the Corporal, ladies! Let's _go!_" Yang sprinted out, vivid dream long forgotten.

"Attention, all hands," the voice droned, "evasive maneuvers are commencing." Yang didn't have time to grab onto a railing, and was hurled into the the wall when the _Ascendant Dawn _began a lurching, gut-churning turn. Ros was lifted off her feet, thrown into Yang by the uncaring force of gravity.

"Oof!" Yang coughed, caught unprepared. "Watch your step, fatass." Ros tried to laugh, but the ship gave another pulse of acceleration, one that reversed the pull of gravity. Holding her friend in a death grip, Yang spun around, her aura keeping her legs intact when they hammered against the door to the barracks block. She caught Asgeg too, keeping her from crippling her arm against the bulkhead.

Lorl impacted beside her, his elbow shattering as it prevented his head from smashing open. He screeched in pain, unable to grasp his wound as the Ascendant Dawn pressed him down.

"I'm gonna hurl!" Asgeg yelled above the klaxons, her face green.

"You get it in my hair and you won't make it to the landers!" Yang replied, her voice thin with strain. The _Ascendant Dawn _righted itself to semblance of normality, although the pull of gravity was still gut-wrenching. The change was not in time to protect Asgeg's weak stomach. Retching, she spilled half-digested amino slurry onto the door.

Yang's hair remained unsullied, much to her relief.

"C'mon maggots!" Jorvis yelled, his hand fixing his beret on his greying scalp. "To the landers!" Some managed an 'aye', but it was sickened and weak. _This is insane_, Yang thought. Only her huntress training kept her in clear state of mind, ready to pivot mid-air.

Wrapped in a crude toga made from Mael's bedsheets, Soo hauled Lorl into a moving position, pestering him in Ranshan. Mael gave her a quick kiss before joining the rest of Squad F. They shared a brief, knowing nod, before parting.

"Very cute," Jorvis snarled, "now fucking _move_, jackass!"

Stumbling into the main halls of the transport, they found it choked with their comrades, each shaken and perturbed by the capricious whims of the _Ascendant Dawn_. Many wore bags under their eyes, their awakening rude and sudden.

Lasguns in hand, they stormed through the halls, jostling and bouncing off each other. Another evasive maneuver tossed them around like ragdolls, and a member of second company was crushed by the weight of his comrades. He died screaming.

Yang was nauseous and angry. She was helpless, and it felt _wrong_.

It took Gamma Platoon ten minutes to reach their assigned lander. Jorvis was the last one aboard, hammering the door as he hopped inside. It slammed shut behind him, and the interior lights flickered on, revealing a bevy of breathless, pissed-off Woadians.

"Lock and load, Rangers, we are ready-up!" He cried. The reply was singular, deafening.

"_**ÁUH**_!"

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor's mood was as black as her armor, the disassembled panoply of war packed within a blessed container that sat at the back of her shuttle. The kasrkin accompanying her to the _Scythe of Morning_ felt the irritation and frustration that sat upon her shoulders, shifting in discomfort.

The treacherous nature of the warp had deposited her war party at Uriel safely, but far before her navigators' estimates, as well as obscuring the battle that consumed both surface and orbit. She frowned. _No doubt,_ _Josephus has brought battle to Uriel. It cannot be a coincidence._

Compounding her frustration with Josephus was Amat, the assassin cloaked and hidden across the hold.

It had taken years of lessons, manipulation, and careful psychic probing to pry away the Vindicare Temple's steel grip on his mind. His mind, his memories, his personality, locked away from him behind the misted prison of hypno-indoctrination. Her Ace in the Hole could not be beholden to anyone but her - the Lady Inquisitor believed that loyalty was a matter of absolutes.

It had taken four years of careful, meticulous planning, stripping the layers one by one, all that she may forge herself a worthy assassin, freed from the Officio Assassinorum's chains. And then Yang stampeded through the rest like a rampaging goliath, her mind unrestrained and shining like a star.

Telling him of her past. Of Remnant.

She had read the questions in his mind, the doubts that plagued his soul... the sheer madness of the realities that confronted him. That Yang had shared so much so freely drove her teeth into her lip, fury twisting her face into a rictus of red anger.

Darron flinched next to her, staring ahead as the shuttle docked with _The Scythe of Morning._ Her kasrkin were yet another matter… Darron toed around her with frayed nerves, her outburst on Ranshu shaking him deeply. Many of his subordinates shared his trepidation, and now Loni spoke of Yang's impossible resilience, incredulous and questioning.

"Docking complete my Lady," Chung said, pain coloring his nasal voice. As one, her servants stood, ready to escort her.

"Thank you, Serviceman. Ready yourself for further duty," she said. The descent would be arduous and fraught with danger. "Everyone else, with me. I must don my armor."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she reclined in the armory, splayed on the assembly table. A tech-priest bent over her, cables trailing from his respirator. He had replaced most of his flesh with metal, and apparatuses protruded from him like quills on a boarcupine. Sealing her cuirass shut with the whirr of bolts and sparking arc-lighters, he chanted a prayer to the Omnissiah, a low and constant hum.

As another tech-priest soldered her greaves, needles plunged into her spine, the armor fusing with her nervous system in a crude approximation of an astartes' carapace implant.

"The ritual is completed, my Lady," one red-robed figure hissed, his voice distorted with static and strangled sound bites.

"Full battle regalia this time," she snapped. "Leave nothing behind." The three tech-priests bowed, their extraneous arms scooping up tools once more. With haste, they opened a sealed reliquary, retrieving the remainder of her equipment. They attached her iron halo first, an ebony crown lined with shining platinum and wrought with sterling filigree. Next, they enveloped her face in a vicious helm, its skeletal visage snarling and cruel. Her vision was filled with scrawling text as it integrated with her armor, booting up and screeching binary in her ears.

Lastly, they removed her duster, packing the items it contained into a satchel they hung around her shoulders. In place of her coat, they pinned a billowing black cape, sealing it into place with the smoldering crimson wax of purity seals.

"It is as you requested, my Lady," their leader said, bowing his head.

"Very good," she said, examining their handiwork. No mistakes. No errors. She left her tech-priests, her strides fleeting as they took her from the armory. Like Ira, they had been unable to make sense of the red book she'd found in the Archives. _I need Tyrham._ _I pray to the Emperor he still draws breath._

Entering the bridge, the chatter and commands halted, each officer appraising the Lady Inquisitor as she strode over to the command throne. Ira was there, her power sword in his metal hands. He gaped at her resplendence for a moment before bending his knee and offering up her weapon. She took it, sliding it into its place at her hip.

"You are magnificent, my Lady," Ira said, his flanged voice catching in his metal throat.

"Never before have I donned it all," she explained. "I am an Inquisitor, not a warrior. But alas, war has come to us." Approaching the command throne, she found Captain Barnes in its thrall. A mess of wiring and blinking instruments obscured his eyes, and blood flowed from his lip, which he had gnawed open with clenched teeth. White knuckles gripped the armrests, sinew visible underneath his ivory skin. A host of tubing pumped a cocktail of fluids into his neck and chest, while a cadre of wires fed into his baroque visor. "What's the situation, Captain?" She demanded.

"An enemy fleet is engaged with Imperial forces," he replied, the words harsh and barked. "We outnumber them, but they've managed to land their troops."

"What about our ships?" She asked.

"We are engaged!" He bellowed, his hand slamming a set of buttons. Gazing up at the window that illuminated the bridge, she saw a tangled mess of red lights, highlighting a group of twisted, foul ships. Flashes of light burst forward from Imperial vessels, a silent, thundering salvo.

"The _Ascendant Dawn_'_s_ suffered a hit, but she escaped the brunt of the enemy's fire," Barnes cried. A cannon round impacted against the _Scythe of Morning_'s void-shields, and he flinched at the violation of their sanctity. "What are your orders, my Lady?"

"Get us as close to Uriel as you can, Captain."

"Right away!" An explosion blossomed a klick away from the window, swallowed up by the void-shields once more. "Load the macrocannons, bring the lances online, and move in to assist the fleet!" A chorus of 'ayes' replied in perfect sync. Klaxons and warning sirens howled as more enemy ships pulled away from the engagement. The Lady Inquisitor could only watch as they neared.

"Two cruisers have disengaged Uriel's stationary fleet! They're moving to intercept," A comms officer reported, shouting above the clamor. Captain Barnes grimaced as he steered the ship into a favorable position, blood spurting from his nostrils as the ship gave a lurching turn.

"Macrocannons one through three are ready to fire," the Master Gunner called out, also hard-linked into his terminals.

"Open fire!" Barnes bellowed. The Scythe obeyed, shaking as it discharged its barrage.

"On the way!" The officer shouted. A line appeared on the colossal holo-display, following the rounds as they sailed through the void.

"Two seconds to impact!"

"Ramming speed! Crush the other one!" Barnes roared. The Lady Inquisitor grinned beneath her helm as she deciphered the Captain's plan, bracing herself accordingly.

"Impact!" Two flashes ignited as the enemy's void-shields absorbed the rounds. However, the third one slipped past, shattering the cruiser's hull in a titanic orange blossom. A cheer went up in the Bridge as the image magnified, showing a host of heretics spilling out of the wound in their ship. "Ready lances!" Barnes yelled.

"Full charge!" An officer cried.

"Target their munitions, and open fire!" Forty red lances pierced the void, slipping inside the wounded cruiser and splitting it in two. A chorus of silent explosions ripped it apart before the emptiness of space extinguished them into nothingness. Glowing orange from the _Scythe_'s fury, the repugnant wreckage drifted towards Uriel, meteorites in the making.

The other vessel was fast approaching, their cannons blaring at the _Scythe of Morning_. Its void-shields depleted, but did not break. As the craft gained, the Lady Inquisitor readied herself. This was the most crucial moment. The enemy cruiser swelled in size as the Captain gave his orders.

"Ramming speed!"

"Aye!" At each kilometer gained, the arch-foe's cruiser grew more repugnant, its hull sprouting gruesome trophy racks and blasphemous words a hundred meters high. She could feel the enemy's hatred in her mind, their furor a bleeding red stain in the warp.

"Crush them, Captain," she said, sneering.

"DEATH TO ALL HERETICS," Barnes bellowed, consumed by the visceral grip of his command throne. He gave out a cry of agony as he adjusted the _Scythe_'s course, fighting the ship itself as he banked it into a violent intercept course. Blood leaked from his mouth, his clenched teeth shredding his lips apart.

Creaks and groans echoed throughout the ship as it protested its sudden shift in trajectory. The Lady Inquisitor was ready for the massive shift in gravity, and balanced herself as the massive bulk of the _Scythe_ shifted in space. The bridge crew cried out, the punishing g-forces sucking them into their seats.

It was just in time, as the enemy's cruiser fired its guns, realizing its coming doom. Rotating, it tried to escape. It didn't.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" Barnes screamed. Sirens blared, and the bridge was doused in red light as the _Scythe_ barreled forward, bloodlust seething from the Captain beside her. The ships connected, and the reinforced armor-plated prow of her ship punched into the enemy cruiser, breaking it apart under its unrelenting force. It buckled, splintering into a thousand fragments of red-painted adamantium.

The _Steed of the Saint_ soared overhead, its lances raking what remained with scouring blasts of holy las-fire. Uriel loomed ahead, the black spires of industry alight with a burnt reddish hue. A heretic, freed from the confines of his ship, splattered against the window, spraying solidified blood against it.

"Well done, Captain," the Lady Inquisitor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can you put me in contact with Magos Tyrham?" Composing himself, he nodded, pressing a few buttons on his throne. As he sought out the correct frequency among the thousands of comm-lines, she devised a plan, composed contingency sequences.

In the chaos of open conflict, infinite possibilities existed, each one requiring a different path, different actions to resolve. Magos Tyrham was one of the more powerful Magi among the Mechanicus hierarchy on Uriel. He supervised Forge Sidon-Six, one of the titanic hive-foundries that dotted the surface… he should be well-protected. The possibility of losing Myrtenaster unnerved her.

Though their mutually beneficial relationship was born twenty years ago of stressed necessity (and she detested most members of the Mechanicus), it had borne considerable fruit. And though his mind was caged in metal, it bore the same characteristics of all her servants, Enough to trust him with her last reminder of Remnant. She prayed to the Emperor he was still there.

"Contact established, my Lady," Barnes said through gritted teeth. She let loose a silent breath. _Truly, I am blessed._ "Terminal four."

"Thank you, Captain," she replied, stalking over to a bank of communications equipment. It sprouted wires and servitors galore, each one well-oiled and hissing as they routed and re-routed their network of vox-lines and comm channels. "Magos Tyrham…" she said, summoning his image from a host of screens. He appeared, six yellow eyes that shone out from a crimson hood, the rest of his face concealed by shadows and an artisanal vox-mask. A legion of augmentic limbs twitched and worked as he stepped into view, each clacking and working as they went about their tasks.

"Ah, Lady Inquisitor," his voice replied, tinny and bitcrushed. "Many years since we last spoke. Opportune to meet you once again." His words were always hurried and rapidly delivered, but now there was an edge to his voice. An urgency.

"Likewise, Magos. I require your assistance once more."

"How fortunate. I find myself in a similar predicament," he replied.

The Lady Inquisitor rested her hand on the pommel of her force sword, looking into the projection of her ally. "How may I assist you?"

A rumbling disrupted the channel, shaking Magos Tyrham's image into a wavy screen of pixels. His eyes blinked and darted, no doubt running a hundred subroutines. "Under assault from the arch-foe. They have seized my forge-district and advance on others. Uriel is in crisis."

"Understood, Magos," she said, nodding. "I'll extract you once I make planetfall."

"Misunderstood. I cannot leave, and the arch-foe is well-entrenched. Skies are contested as well. Extraction not only unwelcome, but impossible. My work is here too. Cannot abandon it."

The Lady Inquisitor sighed, wishing her helm allowed her to massage the bridge of her nose. "Surely, you exaggerate," she said. "The fate of the sector - and possibly the Crusade - rest on me reaching you. There must be another way."

Magos Tyrham's image flickered, his eyes clicking and whirring. "No exaggeration," he replied, his metal voice tinged with regret. "Position is perilous. Your donations have bolstered my defensive capabilities, but we are losing ground. Workshop will not remain inviolate forever."

"Unacceptable!" The Lady Inquisitor cried, startling the comms officers, who wilted under her sudden rebuke. "You must hold, at all costs. I will do what I can to relieve you, but you cannot fall."

"...Understood, my Lady," Tyrham said, mechanized digits clacking against each other. "Uriel's defenses have been reinforced. Several dozen Astra Militarum regiments from surrounding sub-sectors. They are inexperienced, but holding. Twenty three such regiments hold the neighboring Forge. Magos Valarah's domain. If they are relieved, they may be reallocated to freeing my own."

The Lady Inquisitor nodded, hand resting on the hilt of her inferno pistol. "I will see what I can do. Who is in command here?"

"Archmagos-Governor Abremel commands the skitarii. The general defense of Uriel as well. General Campbell leads the Militarum reinforcements. Their progress is slow. The arch-foe…" he trailed off, hood shifting to reveal its gold trimmings. "They came in great numbers."

"Hold firm, Magos. I will see you shortly. Remain in contact, and update me as often as you can. Good luck, and may the Emperor deliver us."

"Omnissiah grant us all his favor," he agreed.

The channel disconnected, and the Lady Inquisitor's fist clenched, resolve straining the servos in her armor.

"Captain Barnes," she called, "bring us within deployment range. Today, we make war!" The resulting cheers reached for the soaring ceiling of the bridge, but the enthusiasm of her servants did nothing to lighten her mounting apprehension.

Amat.

Tyrham.

Yang.

_Emperor… please… light my way._

* * *

**A/N: Huge chapter next time! Also, WOOT, SEASON 3 OF RWBY DROPS TODAY! GET FUCKING HYPE!**

**Review Replies:**

**Antonio92: That was my thought as well! Yang is just not suited for the Imperium at all, and it always makes me grin!**

**LordGhostStriker: Well, it's kinda academic at this point, right?**

**huCAST 75 madeanaccount: Thanks for the feedback! I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it as much as you normally did. Hopefully this chapter shed some light on the whole issue.**

**Darth nylon544: 1 - Yeah, I have no idea what the fuck I meant by that. Sorry! And regarding Yang's thoughts on the 'Imperium' twisting Weiss' love of Ruby, Yang doesn't mean it quite literally... she can't know everything Weiss has done or how she arrived at her current love/obsession for Ruby. Plus, it's a sensitive topic for her, and she is human after all. Doesn't have the benefit of an objective opinion.**

**Darkerpaths: Yeah, even the words they learn are constructed to keep them pliant and obediant.**

**Redcollector: Thank you!**

**OnyxIdol: Don't make a bet with the author of the story! XD**

**Inquisitor Azreal: I guess we'll find out, won't we?**

**OBSERVER01: Thank you so much! We'll be learning a little more about Amat as the story goes on, I think.**

**The Walrus of Eden: Only War and all, of course. It was interesting putting a Vindicare in such a setting. I think it rubbed a few people the wrong way. :D**

**reality deviant: Thank you!**

**Enuncia: I put a lot of work into them, so I'm glad you liked them. Thanks for recc'ing me on the r/RWBY bookclub! :D**

**Kiyoushu: It fits so well haha!**

**Gammaman: If he does, it will be minor and not for a long, long time.**

**Nemris: I'm glad you think so! I agree... constant violence is only fun for a bit.**

**snoogenz: It's just the way she is!**

**Heitomos: Hopefully it didn't come on too suddenly! I wanted to subvert how "the Reveal" gets done in a lot of crossover fics, but that seems to have its own set of issues. Glad you liked it!**

**blaiseingfire: I guess we'll see!**

**Jigoku no Yami: The Lady Inquisitor chooses her servants carefully. And sorry, but dust doesn't exist in the Imperium!**

**Gafgar: Well, at least she doesn't have FILTHY XENOS ears. XD**

**soupie13941: Aw, you flatter me! It means a lot hearing that, so thank you! :)**

* * *

**Thanks so much everyone! I love hearing your thoughts on the story, and I appreciate every bit of feedback!**


	37. Home

**A/N: I swear I'm not planning to release at the same time as RWBY S3 episodes, but that's just what's happening! GET HYPE! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 36: Home**

"_Her smile never once faltered." - Joo-yi, child of Shao-la_

The rattling of the lander as it broke through the atmosphere of Uriel sent tremors running through Yang, a chill that crawled its way up her spine and settled into her fingertips. A low hum echoed against the cold metal of the hold, the reformed Gamma platoon preparing itself for combat once more. Gone were the fresh-faced recruits who'd trembled in front of the greenskins. Gone were the children that left their homes and family. In their place stood men and women, warriors all.

And they were angry.

"Listen up troopers!" Jorvis bellowed, the blaring howl of descent accenting his cry for attention. "We've got a hot drop today, so expect shit to go south real quick. The arch-foe just got a fuck-ton of reinforcements, and they're getting all uppity! They think they're tough!" A cry of disapproval met this, the platoon's faces twisted in anger and contempt. "They think they're invincible, and the up-start greenies aren't doing a good enough job of proving them wrong! It's our turn, Woadians!" As they roared their approval, Jorvis punched a button on Ros' harness. "Up and at 'em, Corporal." Saluting, she reached into her armor, withdrawing the black tube of paint. Each Woadian knew what it meant.

"Men and Women of Woadia!" She screamed, tossing the cap aside and tossing a spare tube to Mael. "Join me in prayer!" The reply was singular, unanimous, and teeth-rattling.

"ÁUH!" Their feet hammered the floor, heels clashing against the metallic floor.

"Once more, we ride to battle! Once more, we join the fray! Once more, we bring battle to the arch-foe!" Dipping her fingers in paint, Ros marked Yang first, drawing a line down her nose before highlighting her eyes with cruel, spiralling twists. The pattern was more intricate this time, and she marked her blonde friend with a stylized aquila that stretched across her flak armor.

"Hear me now," she said, moving down the line. "We came to Elodia as _meat_."

"ÁUH!"

"And we came to Jala Prime as _prey!_"

"ÁUH!"

"But we came to Shao-la as _saviors_!" She cried, her brow furrowed in righteous anger.

"_ÁUH!_" Coming to Caolin, he gave her a brief nod. Acknowledging it, she drew a lazy spiral around his eye, one that crossed over his long scar and reached down his neck.

"Now," Ros said, moving on, "we come to Uriel as saviors once more!"

"ÁUH!" After their feet clashed against the floor, a sudden jerk of the lander stumbled Ros and Mael. Outside the lander, Yang heard a symphony of explosions, each one throwing their craft into a gale of turbulence. Her friends moved on, faces set in rigid determination.

"We have faced trials before my friends, my brothers and sisters!" Ros bellowed, spewing blood from her mouth. She'd bitten her tongue.

"ÁUH!"

"We have been forged in the fires of battle, under guidance from the Emperor Himself!"

"ÁUH!" Another explosion threw the lander off-course, jarring them all in their harnesses. An explosion ripped the rear of the craft free, and shrapnel ripped through the hull. Ros tripped, but Asgeg caught her, their hair flying free in the open hold. As light spilled in from the exterior, a sky of death greeted them beyond.

As Ros continued her prayer, Yang glanced beyond the twisted, fragmented window through which Uriel emerged. It was a tangled mess of towering gothic spires and factories, each one spewing smog into the flier-choked skies. Dogfights by the hundreds lit up the polluted clouds, stitches of tracer fire arcing through the air as fighter craft circled and dove.

Behind their shredded craft, a host of Woadian landers descended, bobbing and weaving through the black bursts of AA.

"And now, amidst the fury of the arch-foe, we descend!" Ros continued, pointing at the chaos in their wake. "We are the chosen of the Inquisition! The chosen of the Emperor!"

"ÁUH!" Gamma cried, stomping their feet in unison. The lights in the hold switched off, replaced by a flickering red light.

"Our time is now! Aided by the Holy Sisters, by the forces of Uriel, battle calls once more! WILL YOU DENY IT?" Ros screamed, finishing the last trooper's war paint.

"No!" They bellowed, faces twisted into rage and righteous, eager fury. Behind them, a cloud of shrapnel burst a lander apart, consuming it in a ball of fire.

"Then go forth! Kill and be killed!" Ros cried, ignoring the screaming descent of their dead comrades. "The Emperor Protects!"

"The Emperor protects!" They replied. As the hive city grew taller, the rank scent of Uriel's rampant pollution filled the hold.

Bouncing in her harness, Yang wore a feral grin. Many Woadians copied her, adrenaline coursing through their veins. _No matter what happens_, Yang thought, readying her lasgun, _I'm going to do my best_. The light switched to green, and the doors tried to open, halted by the wounds the lander suffered.

"Go, go, go!" Jorvis yelled, bludgeoning the doors open. "Guns hot, boys and girls," he ordered as a tracer whickered off the craft. They spilled out of the hold and stepped into a quagmire of death. A toxic industrial hell stretched out before them, alive with bullets, screaming soldiers, and the flashes of lasfire. Piles of refuse and forge-scrap had been converted into a field of death, crawling with cultists and strewn with corpses. The middens of discarded metal formed crude trenches, steep hills and plunging valleys, all suffused with a glowing red pollution. Vehicles by the hundreds studded a struggling battle line, tanks and Basilisks letting loose a chorus of doom. Troops in their hundreds of thousands accompanied them, a massive wall of green-clad humanity.

Yang leapt from the lander, bellowing a wordless war-cry. As soon as her boots hit the rusted metal that stretched across the ground, she unleashed her lasgun. Gamma fell in behind her, spreading out under her covering fire, singing war hymns and the Emperor's praises. The enemy was an encroaching tide of muzzle flashes and skittering brown forms, advancing under a punishing wail of lasbolts. _This… __**this**_ _is war_, Yang realized. Even Shao-la was little more than a skirmish compared to the massive meat grinder before her. If she wasn't busy killing, the sheer scale would have made her jaw drop. It was possible there were more soldiers in the battle then people in the entire Kingdom of Vale.

Crouching in a trench carved out of a discarded pipeline and a long-dry canal, an entire company of guardsmen exchanged fire with the enemy, each man fresh-faced and frightened. They watched the Woadians' arrival with awe, gulping nervously as they spied their ebony flak armor and the silver emblem on their chests. Approaching the battle-line was difficult and treacherous, as there was no solid ground in the wastes that stretched before them. The earth was nothing but channels of brown sludge and twisted iron.

"Up you dogs!" Jorvis said, pointing at the enemy with his chainsword. A hiss of death attempted to put him down, and the snap-crackle of passing rounds rained upon them like a hailstorm. Scrambling to the trench, they ducked under the scraps of metal that boiled under the weight of enemy lasbolts. "Fire! Fire, damn you!"

Yang dashed forward with her lasgun in hand, almost overwhelmed by the sheer noise and the smell. Her stomach churned at the reek of promethium, exacerbated by the rank stench of factory waste and rotting metal. At the same time, her heart was thudding against her flak armor, desperate to be free of her chest. This was the Imperium in its fullest, rawest form. Sucking in the foul miasma, she couldn't stop a grin from spreading across her face. As some rookie guardsmen looked up at her in fear and reverence, her smile grew wider.

"You heard him, boys!" She yelled, pointing them to their posts. Up and at 'em!" Gulping, they obeyed, turning over the lip of the pipeline and exchanging fire. A mortar shell landed a few dozen yards away, throwing up shredded bodies and a shrill screams.

Sliding into cover, she joined Ros and Caolin, who pressed themselves tight against the corpse of an old tank. Blood from the mortar's victims rained around them, and howling, mutilated cadavers crawled around on weeping stumps. They succumbed one by one, drowning in the mud, colored crimson by gore and pearlescent oil-slicks.

"Now this is a fucking shit-show if I've ever seen one," Ros screamed, loosing a few bolts at the heretics.

"Trooper Roriksson!" Jorvis cried, his bolt-pistol barking. "Get a read on the situation. Up and down the line!" Couching his long-las against some twisted rebar, he scanned the battle, ducking as rounds sparked against their cover.

"Emperor protect us!" A guardsman near them screamed, throwing himself to the floor. Jorvis scooped him up, dragging him back into cover.

"What the in the name of the Throne is going on here, Trooper!" The Sergeant screamed. The rookie's eyes flashed and flickered, unsure where to go. Quivering, his lips tried to spit out words that couldn't find air. "C'mon, speak! Who's in charge here?"

"I-I-I I don't know my Lord," he stammered. "Captain Giger bought it right off the bat, and I haven't seen my Sarge in three hours…" he cringed as a lasbolt lanced past their heads, close enough to singe Yang's breathing air.

"Fuck, man!" She cried, taking a look for herself. The brown forms were closer, but weren't as suicidal as their spiritual brethren on Ranshu. They kept up the pressure, crawling over shards of refuse and fallen bodies to join their comrades. However, an enormous assault was taking place a half-kilometer away, a tide of brown sweeping against the mountain of rubble that jutted out from a pile of industrial trash. Spraying her lasgun down the small hill they crowned, Yang ducked, just in time to avoid a cannon round that wailed overhead. It fell far away, sending up a cloud of freed rust and spiraling limbs.

"How long have they been on you?" Jorvis demanded, shaking the recruit by his pauldrons.

"S-s-six hours, sir! My Lord!" He said, trying to regain his composure. "They've been all over Hill Thirty-Seven there." He pointed at the hill that Yang had seen. "We've… been pushing them back for awhile now, but they get closer each time."

Growling, Yang peered over the pipeline lip once more. Her aura boiled underneath her skin, begging to be unleashed, thrashing against the bars of its cage. _Let it loose_.

_No!_ She thought. Throne, her shoulder hurt. The utter chaos, the impossible scale of it all got under her skin, and the adrenaline burned as it scoured its way through her veins. _How many people are fighting and dying in front of me?_ She couldn't count them all, try as she might. The chaotic nature of the landscape made it impossible, and the constant wail of small-arms fire drowned out rational thought. With a snarl, she fired her lasgun until the barrel smoked.

It felt wrong. Ember Celica lamented on her wrists, begging for use. The sword strapped to her back thirsted for blood. She could almost hear their siren calls.

It was horrifying. It was awesome. Slapping a fresh cell into her lasgun, she realized she was smiling, and shook it away. Asgeg fell in next to her, panting and breathless. Already, soot streaked her face, a tapestry of blue paint and filth.

"What in the name of the Emperor are we doing out here?" She yelled over the crash of cannon. Yang wondered the same thing. _Where's Weiss? Why does she want us out here?_ A flash of black silk and a bouncing blue helm grabbed her attention. Alpha platoon was on their left, weathering the hail of enemy fire.

"We get any other orders, Sarge?" Yang asked, turning to Jorvis.

"We're waiting for our Lady!" He bellowed, jamming a new mag into his bolt pistol. "It's a fucking nightmare out there, we just have to hold 'em off!" He snarled. The battle at the Hill was going poorly, and snaking rivers of green-clad troopers fled from the rubble. They spewed red bolts behind them to no avail.

Kalla squawked as a transmission crackled in his headset. Pressing the receiver into his ear, he ducked deeper into cover. When it was over, he got Jorvis' attention.

"The Lady Inquisitor wants us to provide an example for the troops," he said. "Break the heretic's attack."

"And how the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Jorvis demanded, bolt pistol blaring.

"Take Hill Thirty Seven," Kalla replied, fingers tight around his vox-caster.

"That's suicidal," Ros shouted. Caolin spat his agreement before letting loose with his long-las.

"We'll get chewed up out there," Theni added.

"Not if we had some artillery support and the Sisters," Yang countered. "You saw what they did on Shao-la! Plus, you guys stay behind me, and we'll be fine."

"Our Lady's given us our orders," Jorvis said, fixing his beret with a scowl, "We obey. And Trooper Xiao Long's got a good point. We move fast, and we'll be fine. Not like hanging around these useless shitstains is any better." The rookie soldier swallowed. "That's right, I'm talking about you. Kalla!" Jorvis said, spinning. "When are we stepping off?"

"Twenty minutes, rendezvous at grid marker six-oh-seven," Kalla said, a bullet burying itself into the cover before him.

"Well?" Jorvis asked. "Don't just stand there! Get a move on, Gamma!"

"Aye!" They bellowed back.

* * *

After twenty minutes of fighting through the chaotic, hellish trenches and shallow metallic fox-holes, Gamma platoon and the rest First Company stood opposite Hill Thirty Seven, crouched behind the lip of the long-dried canal. The roar of warfare had not diminished in the time it took to get here, only swelling as the cultists swarmed forward.

"This is crazy," Caolin said. "I can't believe our Lady ordered this."

"She's an Inquisitor," Lana said, reaching for a necklace. "She knows best." Her eyes closed, and a whisper crawled past her lips. "But H-Holy God Emperor I don't wanna go out there," she murmured, pressing a kiss onto her aquila. Yang tried to shut her out. She knew Weiss' plan could mean the death of her comrades, but it was necessary. As much as it set her blood to boiling, Yang could see Weiss' cold logic behind the assault. They'd all die if something wasn't done to curb the cultists' advance. Overwhelmed, outflanked, the rookies would break and fold, and whatever was left would be ground into mulch.

_I'll just have to do my best to keep them all safe._

The gurgle of engines approached, and three Basilisks jockeyed into position, leveling their enormous earthshaker cannons. Behind them, the canal was crowded with Woadians, each crouched and ready to meet the enemy. They chanted and sung, prayed and stomped, amping themselves up for the assault. Then, as one, they went quiet. Yang turned to find out why, and her jaw dropped.

The Lady Inquisitor stood before them, braving the onslaught of enemy fire in her resplendent armor. Even as bullets snapped overhead and lasbolts sizzled the air around them, she remained unfazed, her face hidden behind a terrifying skull mask. Her cape drank in the battle-flashes and red glow of pollution, a slice of night flapping in the wind. A spiked ebony halo stretched across her shoulders, radiant and glimmering silver.

She _shone_.

"Woadians! I ask one thing of you today!" She bellowed, her voice echoing across the wastelands as it boomed forth from her mask. "I ask you to follow me!" Ira appeared behind her, his arms splitting apart and grasping a pair of swords. His face was writ in awe as he looked up at his master, a look echoed by countless others. "I ask you to follow me, and bring death to the arch-foe! The Imperium calls upon us to protect its forges! Its very ability to wage war!" Activating her sword, she pointed it at Hill Thirty Seven. "And that stands in our way! Bring your hate!" She bellowed, seizing her inferno pistol. "Muster your anger! Prepare yourselves, and remember, the Emperor is watching!"

"Áuh!" They cried back, throwing their fists into the air. A whistle pierced the howling gale of war and the Basilisks readied.

"Zero elevation!" A bombardier screamed. "High explosive! Deflection, point five-niner-six! Ready… FIRE!" The Basilisks boomed, a sound that flooded Yang's ears with ringing. The hill was sundered apart by the salvo, scattering clouds of shattered structure and shards of metal into the air.

"CHAAAAAAARGE!" The Lady Inquisitor cried. The Sister's Thunderhawks soared overhead, blaring bolters and a cavalcade of rockets. Yang bellowed a wordless war cry before, plunging forward, the entirety of the 111th at her back.

Her feet thundered across the ground, a blur of speed and unrelenting power. She sucked in reeling breaths as she leapt over the countless piles of debris and twisting rubble. Ahead of her, the enemy was little more than a collection of muzzle-flashes and brown dots.

Beside her, Weiss stampeded forward, shrugging off lasbolts and bullets like they were flies. Her halo glowed and pulsed as it deflected them. The skull unnerved Yang, but she ignored the thought for now, battle was almost upon her.

More artillery rained down, illuminating the horizon with brilliant yellow flashes. A flier swept low, its guns deafening as they drenched the Woadians with spent casings. Ros, Mael, Asgeg, Theni and Jorvis were right behind her, faces taught with determination.

The charge was enormous, almost seven thousand troopers spread out over a battle line half a kilometer long. Their charge was the epitome of the Imperium, and Yang couldn't help but love it. This is what she was made to do.

A bullet whickered off her pauldron, turned aside by her aura. A stubber lit into them, scything down their left flank. Gritting her teeth, Yang pushed on, careful not to let her hair show. They were closer. Almost two hundred meters now. Hill Thirty Seven loomed above them, still guarded by a few green-clad holdouts at its base. A mortar strike landed in front of her, lifting her off her feet and throwing her against a jutting sheet of steel.

"Yang!" Ros screamed, sprinting up to her. She'd lost her helmet, and red hair played across her sweat-streaked face.

"I'm fine!" Yang said, jumping to her feet. Bits of shrapnel stuck out of her flak armor, smoking and hissing. "I'm fine! We need to keep moving!" But as the mortars did their work, the press of soldiery stalled to halt. Only Weiss, Ira, and her guard pressed on, undeterred.

"Fuck!" Yang shouted. "Where's our armor? The Sisters?" She asked. _And for that matter, where's the standard?_ she thought, searching for the 111th's battle flag. Captain Lyrasson and Alpha platoon had been right behind them. _If the attack crawls to a stop, it won't just be the rookies who need rescuing…_ She saw a flash of black silk as the warped astartes helmet wavered and fell, its bearer staggering as a stub round tore chunks away from his torso. Her eyes widened, and she dove forward, catching the standard before it hit the ground. She caught the bearer too, letting him down with respect and reverence. He gurgled and spat, pleading with Yang, making some unknown request. She closed his eyes when he breathed his last.

Staring at the gunmetal pole in her hands, she knew what she had to do.

"C'mon!" She said, screaming until she was hoarse. "Our Lady needs us! For Woadia!" Pointing the standard at the Hill, she bellowed, and continued her charge. The response was singular and roaring, barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

"FOR WOADIA!"

The 111th threw themselves after her, inspired by her recklessness, her utter contempt for death. Making sure she stayed in front of Ros, she plunged forward. The banner snapped and fluttered with speed, soaring forward into the storm of death. In mere seconds, she caught up with Weiss, her steel-toed boots striding alongside her friend's power armor.

"Yang?" She hissed, firing her inferno pistol.

"Well don't thank me all at once. Now come on, let's go, go, go!" They leaped down from a platform, sliding down a sheet of pockmarked concrete. The Hill loomed over them, spilling over with enemies. They passed the rookie guardsmen, who were caught up and absorbed into their assault.

Drawing her power sword with her free hand, she thumbed the activation rune and stormed forward, ignoring the hail of gunfire. She smiled. She felt alive, invincible, untouchable. An angel of war. Deliverance would visit Uriel, not in the form of the Emperor, but from her, banner clenched tight in a steady hand.

Up close, she saw the cultists were dirty, scrawny things, wrapped in mismatched brown rags and crude gas masks. They faltered as they saw her nearing, their guns spent and spitting inert gas and metallic clicks. They were close now, lined up in a trench made of ancient rockcrete and corroded steel.

Closer.

She couched the standard under her arm, a grin pulling itself across her face.

Closer.

As the wall of Woadians smashed against the trenches, they let out a tremendous war-cry.

Now.

Yang launched herself into the air and plunged into the enemy trenches, spearing the nearest heretic with the banner. Wheeling around, she split another from balls to brain, power sword humming as it splattered her with burnt blood.

Theni landed next to her, lasgun blaring on full-auto. Back to back, they choked the rust-mud ground with bodies. The other rangers dove in to help, falling upon enemy reinforcements and tearing them apart. Asgeg sent one six meters into the sky with her augmentic arm, where he was torn apart by lasbolts.

"Yang!" Ros cried, ripping her bayonet free of a cultist, "Next one, move on!"

"You heard her," Jorvis bellowed, chainsaw whirring. His flank was splattered with blood, gore dripping from his purring weapon. "After our Lady!" Launching herself over to continue the push, Yang saw Weiss dancing through them with ease, elegant and graceful as she waded through seas of rancid blood. With a howl of plasma engines, the Sisters arrived, jumping from their fliers and landing beside their master. They were singing, but the din of war and the pulsing, pounding, sensual ache of blood pumping against her ears drowned out the words.

They unleashed a barrage of firepower upon the cultists, cutting them down as they shifted into a better position. Yang rushed to join Weiss. Gamma platoon followed, panting as their warpaint ran like rivers down their faces.

Waving the standard, she ushered them on, ignoring the bullets and lasbolts that swarmed around her. Ira stood just beyond, surrounded by two whirring blades, each crackling with power. What few heretics still near him died, ground into chunks before raining upon the scrapyard battle.

"Weiss!" Yang said, joining her friend. She was ramming a new cell into her inferno pistol, which spewed smoke from every orifice. "Where do you need me?"

Locking the power cell in, the Inquisitor pointed at the Woadian vanguard. "Do what you do best Yang," she said, her voice metallic and hollow as it rang out from under her mask. Yang grinned. Jorvis dove behind a knife of jutting rockcrete near her, bolt pistol barking. Sliding to join him, she tapped his shoulder.

"Trooper Xiao Long? What the fuck?"

"I'm moving up! Stay behind the Sisters," she yelled over the lasbolt that split the air between them and smacked into Caolin.

"Caolin!" She screamed as he fell backwards, stumbling and searching for purchase. He found nothing, and collapsed backward. Screaming, she leapt from her post. "Caolin!" Ros was nearer, and turned their friend over as she shook his shoulders.

He gave them a thumbs up, grinning as blood trailed from his lips.

"I'm fine!" He said, clumsily patting Ros' pleading face. "Hurts like a motherfucker, but my armor caught it. Ah, fucking _Emperor!_" He yelled, clenching at his smoking flak plates. "I guess we're even now," he said, trying to laugh.

"Find Varus and get him help!" Yang said. They didn't need to follow where she was going.

"Yang?" Ros asked.

"Stay _put,_ Ros!" She growled. Without a second glance, she rejoined the fight. The heretics were consolidating, pulling back for defilade amidst the ruins of some rusted leviathan flier. The Sisters pushed onward, surrounded by black-clad Woadians. They were slowing, and some rolled into cover, hounded by lasbolts.

Yang stormed forward, the banner in her hand flapping.

"C'mon," she called, "Let's go!" Corralling the regiment with her sword, she whipped them into a frenzy, slamming the standard against the ground as she ran. "Keep pushing! Keep it up! Kill them! Kill them all!" Her comrades roared in response, crawling over the twisted debris to join her.

She passed the biggest sister as she unleashed her titanic heavy bolter, chewing holes into the heretics.

"Suffer the Emperor's wrath!" The Sister cried as bullets ricocheted off her armor. The Palatine reached the giant wreck, plunging her chainsword into enemy cover and carving a gap for her Sisters to follow. They made short work of the rest, and a Sister with flame pistols in each hand bellowed a prayer as she marched forward. The wreck was soon a pillar of flame, each inch bellowing smoke and covered in smoldering promethium.

The Woadians followed, putting the wailing, charred, half-people out of their misery. Yang joined the spearhead, coming up behind the Palatine.

"And so it came to pass that the Emperor slew them all," she said, her vox-casters vibrating as they flung her voice across the battlefield. "And they knew His Glory, His Majesty, and they knew _Fear!_" Her colossal chainsword roared, grinding a heretic into red sludge.

Batting away the flickering flames, Yang emerged on the other side of the wreck where a grim sight awaited her. Enemy reinforcements. There were hundreds, brown beetles that swarmed up the hill to support their fleeing brethren. Her fingers rapped a steady beat against the hilt of her sword.

Yang stepped forward, catching the Palatine's pauldron. The Sister whipped around mid-speech, face creased, scowling, and blood-spattered.

"How dare you," she bellowed, staring down at Yang with unfiltered annoyance. "There are heretics afoot, you cannot-"

"Shut up," Yang said, pushing the woman behind her. "Go watch the flanks." Her face lit up, so red, it was as if it burst into flames. She hoisted her sword and screamed a reply but Yang was already walking away. She smiled. _This is where I shine._ _It's my turn_, she thought, eyeing the swarm of baddies. _This is going to be_ _**fun**_.

At the apex of the hill, she slammed the standard into a tangled mess of rebar, standing it proudly amidst the wreckage. Pumping aura into her throat, she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

"Here I stand," she called, beckoning the heretics forward with her sword. Her words echoed down the hill, ringing against the sheet metal and pipework. "Come get me!" They shrieked in defiance, funneling themselves towards the golden woman with the fluttering banner. Behind her, the Woadians spread out to receive the counter-attack. "I challenge you all… try and take me down!"

A burning ache boiled in her heart, her aura threatening to spill over into each crevice of her being, consume her in ghost flame. _No… not yet_. Watching Mael send a screaming rocket into the crowd, she took a deep breath. _I hope Caolin's alright. _Right now, it was time to protect her friends.

"Watch the sides!" She reminded her allies, gesturing away from the counter-attack. Ember Celica hissed and clacked as it unfolded, eager for duty. They were closer now, weathering the onslaught of fire. The Palatine was still screaming something at her, but she had no idea what it was. _As long as she doesn't interfere_. The heretics were close enough to reach her nostrils. They stank of blood and sweat, of ozone and cordite. Glancing at Weiss, she threw her friend a small wink.

"Let's _DO THIS!_" She cried, stepping forward. They flung small-arms fire at her, but nothing scratched her. Diving forward, she met the first man with a left hook, crushing his face into splinters. Spinning, her sword cleaved three of them in half.

They swarmed her with bayonets and rusted knives, each one cut down like the ones before them. She hacked and spun, throwing the heretics around like toys. A huge man barreled towards her, massive shotgun in hand. Her sword flashed, sailing through the air and landing in his heart. Ember Celica took over as she pushed forward, the gauntlets spitting death as they tore her enemies apart. They strained to get past her, strike down the banner, but none of them could. Ducking under a burst of gunfire, she leapt into the air, retrieving her sword before burying it into the flank of another. She stepped back, drawing more towards her.

"C'mon, more, more!" A brace of pellets slammed into her, howling as they tore through her tunic and whickered off her skin. "Wrong move, buddy!" She cried. Her sword descended, a beacon of blue amidst a sea of brown. A bayonet soared forward, but she beat it aside with her fist, spinning to stick her sword in its owner's back. Ripping it free, she slammed it down on another, splitting him in two. Another pushed the halves of his friend aside, desperate to kill her. Ember Celica connected with his chest, crushing it and sending him flying over the heads of his comrades.

Blades by the dozen came at her, each borne by a snarling cultist. Cutting one down, she picked the other up by his coat, hurling him into his friend. Ember Celica belched, chewing them both into pulp. A man stabbed her in the chest, the blade scraping off her armor and sliding between her arm. Pinning it, she blasted him in the face with a shell. Or… she would have, if it didn't click empty.

Roaring wordlessly, She hurled a brace of shells into the air before shoving her sword through her immobile opponent. He spat blood, sliding off and tumbling down the hill. Bounding upwards, she caught the shells mid-flight, locking them into Ember Celica.

"Not enough!" Her fist connected with a heretic, smashing him into a pulp before slamming into the earth. Six of them fell away, screaming at shards of metal and pellets that coated them. One leapt on her back, trying to jam a knife into her neck. Her free hand pulled him off, and she stuttered backwards as she prepared a throw. With a cry, she hurled him down, straight into the swords of his friends. Thrown by the weight of the dead man, they capsized, knocked over like bowling pins.

Easy targets for her comrades.

"Die, corpse-worshiper!" One cried, bringing a chainsword around. It was child's play to duck under the blow. Yang sprung up from her dodge, her fist soaring up to catch him under his jaw. His head burst apart in a flash of cordite and brains, scattering over his friends.

And on the faces of those that did not wear gas masks, Yang saw fear. She smiled.

One tried to flank her, but she caught his head in her hand, casting it into the ground with lethal force. His neck snapped and he too rolled down the hill. A lasgun raised to drown her in bolts, but Yang was too fast. He died, split in half by her sword.

"Anybody else?" She cried to the rest of them, daring them forward, wishing them forward. "It's just lil' ol' me!" They spat and snarled, edging closer at her words. "You!" She said, pointing at the biggest one. He stepped forward, unable to deny her challenge. He raised his autogun, but Ember Celica was already passing through his ribcage. She let him fall, ignoring the feather-touch of his hands as they pushed against her arm. Wheeling forward, she slammed her power sword into the ground, kicking up a storm of rust and burnt offal. The man fell off her arm, shrieking at the hole in his chest.

"Go on!" They stepped away from her. Almost forty corpses stood at her feet, a circle of broken bodies. Even more lay crippled and screaming in pain, their limbs torn away from them. "RUN, YOU COWARDS!" They obeyed, throwing their guns down as they fled down the hill. Yang's heart swelled, and laughter bubbled out from her lips. Seizing the standard, she hoisted it as high as she could.

"WOA-DI-A! WOA-DI-A!" Her comrades took up her cry, scything down the heretics with murderous crossfires. The Sisters aided them, bolters and flames sweeping over their backs. All along the hill, the cultists broke and run, following their fleeing friends. A total route.

A few farther behind tried returning fire, but the press of lasbolts kept their heads down. Yang spun around to face her friends, banner raised high. Most were too busy fighting, but she earned a few shouts of solidarity, the Woadian's fists raised in victory.

However, the Palatine was absolutely furious, stomping towards her with abandon.

"That's how it's done Sister," she said, grinning at the older woman. "Didn't need any fancy armor to do it, either." _Does aura count? Eh, whatever. _Her grin didn't last long, as it was soon introduced to the Palatine's fist.

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**A/N: Uh-oh. Looks like Yang's friend-making attempts are rather hit-or-miss. Also, the battle isn't taking place IN all the city/forge stuff because I wanted to try something a little different. Not all Forgeworlds are 100% covered in city!**

**Oh, and give 'Caffeine' a listen while Yang's doing her thing. Promise it won't disappoint. :)**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please, drop a review and let me know what you thought! :D**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: Hope you enjoyed! Skitarii aren't here just yet, but they will be. Oh, they _will_ be.**

**snoogenz: Right? Why should universes get in the way of such excellent trolling?**

**Redcollecter: Hope the battle satisfied!**

**Ctornello: Thank you! This is the biggest fight they'll have for a while!**

**Antonio92: All in good time, my friend!**

**Nemris: Oh wow, you've flattered me and peaked my curiosity at the same time! Thank you so much for all the support you've given me over the months, and I can't wait to see what's in store!**

**Kiyoushu: And this chapter was full of it! Hope you enjoyed it! **

**Parks98: RIGHT? Episode 2 was really good as well. Hopefully they keep up the kick-ass pace. :)**

**OBSERVER01: Weiss has learned how to do intimidating really well... hope you liked the chapter!**

**Bassmallet: 1. He stated his given reasons in chapter 34, 2. Nope! 3. He's about 6'3" and broad-shouldered, so I'd say so! 4. He doesn't really have a 'plan', so to speak, and he wouldn't know about 'getting caught' since he doesn't know about the Lady Inquisitors constant mental scanning. Hope that helped!**

**Gafgar: ... Point!**

**Mintskittle: Thanks for all your feedback! I really appreciate it! I always love hearing from you, and your reviews always make my day better. As for your thoughts on the chapter, the Inquisitor didn't tell Amat explicitly to speak with her, just she was glad that he has a little more insight to her character. But I will admit, it was an oversight on her part, one that was included very much on purpose! haha**

**ATP: Good ideas! Unfortunately, Paladins and Knights are already less advanced than most of the Tau's walker arsenal. As for the Eldar, they don't really focus on mechanized warfare. They might like the idea of using a horde of mechanical knights as a distraction or diversion, but not only do the craftworlds lack the production cababilities, but their warfare is focused on hit&amp;run tactics!**

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**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! **


	38. Looking Out For Us

**A/N: I apologize for the delay. Blame Fallout 4. XD**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 37: Looking Out for Us**

"_You don't survive forty-five years in the Guard without getting some crazy ideas about the level of interest the God-Emperor has in you. Now shut the fuck up and get me my recaf." - Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik, soon after her retirement on Woadia_

"Oh, you _bitch!_" Yang screamed, skidding backwards. Even though she'd had her aura up, it was like getting hit by a truck. Her semblance flared, dying to be used against the Palatine. "Fug!" She said, lips running over with blood. _You're going to eat my fucking fists_. She bit her tongue trying to keep her hair from bursting into ghost-flame, but she could not stop her eyes from reddening.

The Palatine stepped backwards, stumbled by the rage that poured from Yang. When she saw her eyes, Naja snarled and stomped forward, eviscerator braced to behead Yang. A flash of ebony and silver interrupted her.

"ENOUGH!" Weiss bellowed. Yang's head snapped around to face the Inquisitor, the woman's face masked behind a twisted, sneering skull. The Palatine spat, still advancing. "Stand down, the both of you!"

"But-" Yang shouted, blood leaking through her fingers.

"Stand _down!_" Weiss continued. "This is _utterly_ ridiculous! Childish!" Ira approached, red robes dripping with blood. Behind him stood the kasrkin, white masks gleaming in the shrouded sun.

"My Lady?" He asked, bionic eyes flicking between the two women.

"Pursue them!" Weiss replied, waving at the fleeing cultists. "Do not overextend! Shore up our flanks and dig in! I'll order General Campbell to follow us. Get Lieutenant Varo up here too." Bowing, Ira jogged away, relaying orders. The kasrkin marched forward, following him. Their Captain stopped to glare at Yang before another caught his shoulder and directed him onwards.

"As for you, Palatine, this is disgraceful. Absolutely disgusting."

"This wretch is a mutant!" The Sister shrieked, her halo quivering with anger as she pointed at Yang. "You dare defend her!?" Weiss paused at this, head turning to look at her warband. Only a few were brave enough to observe the altercation directly.

"Follow me, both of you. I will have total silence."

"Fuck that," Yang started, snarling. "I'm-"  
"_SILENCE._" Weiss said, her sword set alight with crackling blue power. She turned on her heel and stomped into the ancient shipwreck, now smoldering from the earlier assault. Yang followed reluctantly, making sure Naja stayed in front of her. _The second she makes a move_, _I'm shoving my sword up her ass_. Ducking inside the ruin, they found relative privacy. The dozens of charred skeletons and smoking corpses would not disturb them. Weiss rounded on them. Even though her face was hidden, Yang could feel her frustration and anger spilling over, a blizzard that pressed down upon her mind.

"Do you realize what you've done?" She hissed. Naja huffed, planting her eviscerator into the ground and crossing her arms.

"You've kept me from squashing a roach," she offered.

"Wrong, Palatine!" Weiss said, shaking a finger at her. "I pray to the Emperor that no one saw that display of yours! And Yang! I warned you! I explicitly warned you about your arrogance!"

"Excuse me?" She demanded. "I try and do my job, and I get punched in the face for my efforts!"

"I will not be treated like a common dog," Naja shot back. "I am one of the Emperor's chosen, and you are little more than a freakishly strong mutant! No ordinary human can withstand my discipline and remain unscathed." Yang growled, her fingers tightening into a fist.

"I'm gonna break you over my knee if you keep pissing me off!" Their argument was interrupted when Weiss picked them up and pinned them to the wall, slamming them hard enough to dent the rusted metal.

"One more word. I dare you." She growled. Yang struggled under Weiss' grip, but found no purchase. "You are two of my most capable warriors. If I see you bickering again, I will break you. Palatine," she said, snapping her head to glower at her. "Your conduct is disgraceful, and I will be making a full report to your Canoness. _If_," she said, knocking her head back when her lips opened in protest, "I decide not to take my own disciplinary measures first. And for your information, she is no mutant, but my apprentice psyker."

When the Palatine's lips twisted into a snarl, Weiss rang her against the wall once more, pushing her farther into the unyielding metal. "Your personal opinions on the matter are irrelevant, _Palatine_. She butchered heretics, is that not enough? Who cares who does it or how? As for you Yang," she continued, staring into her stormy violet eyes, "we've spoken about keeping your emotions in check. If word gets out you picked a fight with the Palatine, there will be side-taking and divisiveness, two things I absolutely do _not_ abide. We do the Emperor's work, and the fact I must treat you like squabbling children turns my stomach." She released them, and they landed on their feet, rubbing their necks.

"Go lead your Sisters," Weiss said to Naja. "Speak nothing of what was said here."

"Yes-"

"Now." The Palatine left without another word. When her back was turned, Weiss' pauldrons slumped, and she buried her face in her palm. "Are you okay, Yang?"

Yang didn't know what to say at first. _She tries to be my friend after treating me like a child? _Her anger must have shown, as a gauntleted hand landed on her shoulder. "Easy there," Weiss said, the other palm open and wary, "I had to make it look like I wasn't playing favorites."

"Wait, what? You're not mad at me?"

Weiss scoffed, cocking her head at the carnage behind them. "Of course not, I saw everything. Emperor, you almost routed an entire company by yourself! I did mean what I said about your arrogance, however. You shouldn't have been so careless with the Palatine, though. I warned you that the Sisters are a dangerous enemy," she said. "Now they will be watching you like a Nevermore, just waiting for an excuse to kill you." The skull-visage shifted, watching the retreating halo of Palatine Naja leaving to join her Sisters. "Or worse, make an official report to her Canoness upon her return." There was a brief silence as the Inquisitor took a deep breath. "Emperor, I should have handled that better. Damnation." she turned to face Yang, her face invisible, swallowed up by the baleful blue glow of her helmet's eyes. "I… apologize."

"It's... yeah," Yang said, breathing a soft sigh of relief. She didn't want to start another fight with her friend... but the Inquisitor's sudden laxity unnerved her. _What game is she playing? Does she mean it? _"Don't worry about it." _It doesn't matter right now_. She'd take whatever out she could. Weiss sighed, turning to watch the battle unfold. Woadians swarmed around them, building defenses and laying down suppressive fire.

"I didn't lie though, I can't have my warband fighting each other. Watch yourself. The Palatine won't take this lightly. She is a capable fighter, but she isn't _you_, Yang. If you need to pick a fight, there's more than enough heretics to slap around." Yang nodded, letting out a clipped laugh.

"Yeah, you got it. It sucks keeping my aura in check though. Can't really get into it like I could on Remnant."

"More's the pity. A few more months of lessons, and we'll see where you are. Now, let us go. We need to consolidate and regroup. Once we have them on the run, we'll push onto the Forge," she said, pointing to a distant cluster of skyscrapers that reached well beyond the clouds. "That's our destination. Once we get there, we might be able to find Josephus." Yang grinned at that.

"Can't wait." Weiss nodded, turning to leave.

"Keep your comrades in good spirits, Yang. The road ahead is long and dangerous."

With a snappy salute, Yang went to check on Caolin and Ros. Stepping out of the wreckage, she drank in the sight of the carnage they'd wrought. Dead cultists were strewn everywhere, most burnt to a crisp. Many others had been blown apart by bolt shells, rendered into little more than chunks of meat. A few Woadians lie dead or dying as well, moaning prayers as medics stooped over them.

She found Ros at Caolin's side, who she'd propped up against a slab of rockcrete. Jogging over, she gave them a wave. "Hey guys."

"Yang!" Ros said, her face brightening. "Praise the Emperor, you're okay!"

"Cause I've never come out unscathed before, right?" Yang replied clapping her on the back.

"Not last time," Caolin added, wearing a faint smile. "There was your ribs, after all." Laughing, Yang crouched down to meet his eyes.

"Good to see you're okay, bud."

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm okay, per se. I did… you know… get shot."

"Suck it up," Asgeg said, walking over to them, a smile splitting her face. "You got zipped, you're even now."

"Hey Asgeg, how's the rest of Gamma? I lost track,' Yang said.

"We're all good. Sarge is rounding up the wounded, getting the others into position. Something _you_ should be doing, Ros." Ros sighed and scooped up her lasgun.

"Yeah, good point. Watch him for me, would you?" She said, ruffling her friend's milky hair. He's an asshole, but I might get a little misty-eyed if he dies." Caolin lovingly patted her boot.

"I appreciate the outpouring of support. My corpse would be very grateful." He watched her jog away, grimacing. "You guys don't have to babysit me you know. Once everyone starts runnin' the other way, _then_ I'll be concerned."

"Not happening, buddy," Asgeg said, punching Yang's shoulder. "Big, blonde and busty over here sent them packing. Practically by herself." Caolin smirked, resting his head against the rockrete.

"Sounds like Yang," he said. "Quick thinking, grabbing that banner. Emperor, what a rush."

"You sure you're okay?" Yang asked, eyeing his armor. It was burnt and cracked, but there was no cooked flesh beneath. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, yeah. Varus stuck something in my neck, and gave me some pills. I'll live. Just catching my breath, really. Asgeg, you good?" He asked, looking up at their comrade. Her sharp chin and freckles shone in the muddy sunlight, splotched with bloodstains.

"Against all odds, yeah. But check this out." Stooping, she pointed at her bionic arm, which bore a series of long scratches. "Get this, I was about to hit the trench, and this fucker pops over it with an autogun. Point blank, right? As close as I am to you. He points it square at me, but he _misses_. Grazes my arm. Physically impossible, but it happened." She sighed, looking up at the dogfights that clouded the smog-choked sky. "It's like the bullets came out sideways. Emperor's looking out for us."

"That He is. He sent us Yang, didn't he?" Caolin said, the scar on his lip splayed into a wry grin. Yang shrugged, beaming.

"Just my luck to get stuck with you guys, huh?" She replied. "Alright, I'm going to do the rounds. Check on everyone else."

"You got it. Make sure Lana doesn't catch me like this, I'll never escape her." Chuckling, Yang moved on, hopping into the first trench. Her boots squelched and sloshed as they slogged through the ocean of blood that saturated the floor. A few wounded heretics still lived, until she found them.

The trench was mostly clear of Woadians.

However, looking out over the field they'd charged across, it was _littered_ with dead. She scowled. Back at the canal, a press of green-clad soldiers prepared to move, clumping up behind boxy tanks. All along the battleline, the heretics were falling back.

She found Gamma near the leftwards flank, stacking sandbags and firing potshots at those foolish enough to come within range. Hopping out of the trench, she joined them. They welcomed her with a cheer, slapping her on the back and smiling broadly.

"Good work Trooper," Jorvis growled. "We thank you all from the bottom of blah, blah blah. Now quit gawking, maggots!" He said, "get back to work!" Grumbling but still grinning, they complied. Yang helped too, stacking sandbags with Theni and Ros. It felt good to build something, no matter how small… and even though staying behind cover wasn't her thing.

* * *

Ira bowed and obeyed his Lady, relaying her orders without hesitation. Whatever happened between the Palatine and his Lady's Representative was none of his business. All around him, the chorus of war ebbed and flowed, a thousand different sounds that looped through his subroutines, each one distinct and traceable. They'd done well seizing the hill, thanks to the efforts of Trooper Yang. He'd done his best as well, carving up the ones that couldn't face her head-on. Blood dripped from every extremity, soaking through his robes and staining his bionics.

Looking at Tyrham's Forge on the horizon, he grinned. He was home. It'd been twenty years since he saw it last, spirited away from the only world he'd ever known and thrust into the Imperium's most secretive and distinguished organization. He'd been called to a higher service, and though he didn't miss the clouded skies and noise of forge-work, a sense of nostalgia pervaded him, one that his processors logged as 'strange' yet 'warming'.

His eyes whirred, zooming to focus upon the fleeing heretics. Another victory for today, but rest could not come just yet. There was more work to be done, and Magos Tyrham must be relieved. The name of his old master opened a backlog of memories, each one booting up and displaying in the corner of his vision.

His birth.

His battles.

His Lady.

He shook his head. Twenty years since he fought against every instinct, rebelled against programming and his own metallic limbs to do what was right. Twenty years since he deleted the part of him that answered to 'Iota-Rho-One'.

He could remember seeing his Lady for the first time, clad in onyx armor and a swirling duster that dripped ichor and oil. He'd been tired, ragged, ammunition for his galvanic rifle nearly spent. Behind her stood her guard, twenty avatars of the Omnissiah's rage, black as the soot that stained their hellguns. Iota-Rho-One had expected a summary execution for staying behind, ignoring orders… defending the horde of trapped serfs that cowered and hid when the cultists ran amok outside the foundry.

Instead, the Inquisitor had praised his initiative, and extended him an offer far beyond his wildest projections. Why? He still wasn't entirely sure. Even after twenty years of serving and self-searching, the answer eluded him.

Stopping, his hand reached into his bloodstained robes, clasping around his necklace. After Shao-la, his Lady had kept her word. He prayed to the Omnissiah he didn't fail her trust. His eyes were open now, more so than ever before.

Uncurling his fingers, he pressed a kiss to the slim sterling cylinder.

He would not fail his Lady, and he would not fail the Recongregationalists.

* * *

Like a knife between the ribs of an unsuspecting victim, the _Pylon of Malice_ slipped between the orbital battle that raged over the skies of Uriel. Dazatyhr sat at its helm, gauntleted fingers steepled into a nestle of ebony spikes, each laced with enough neurotoxins to fell a hundred kabalite warriors. The humans waged their petty war, unwilling and unable to detect the sliver of night that passed between them. He was nothing like these barbarous cretins. He was a warrior, a master, an epitome of cruel ability and unparalleled focus. He was entirely unlike his soft and false-faced Craftworld kin, those who abandoned the true way of the eldar after the Fall.

He was a trueborn son of Commorragh, and Senior Dracon of the Black Myriad Kabal. And he had a mission.

"Lord," an underling said, glancing up from her console, a pane of glass that cast the bridge in a sickly green glow, "We're entering the planet's atmosphere now." Her voice was silken and smooth, barely rising above the rattling of bladed chains that bound her to her station.

"Engage our stealth measures," Dazatyhr ordered with a wave of his hand. The crew obeyed in silence, each avoiding the black pits of his eyes. Displeasure in his gaze was a sordid, terrible thing and it meant one thing only - an invitation to Malafar's chambers. He grimaced at the thought. _Any cost spent to avoid the Haemonculus is gladly paid. _

His officers stood behind him, wreathed in shadow. He could taste their bloodthirst from here, a sweltering summervine ache. Travelling here was no short trip, and they had long exhausted the slaves that abated their succory relish for pain.

Parsing them, he scrutinized El'Eszthar, his lieutenant. Dazatyhr knew the trueborn upstart was angling to stick a knife in his back, patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. In Commorragh, the rungs of all ladders were built from corpses. He would watch him closely.

No better was Succubus Alysandrex, leader of the Blade Denied wych cult. She lounged in the corner with her closest lackeys, expanding and retracting the yellow crystalline blades that sprouted from the hydra gauntlets around her wrists. With crackling hiss, the weapon slid from its housing once more, framing the lithe beauty of their owner in a pale light. She caught his eye, and a cruel, sharp-toothed grin stretched across her violet lips.

Dazatyhr ignored her. Archon Baharaz insisted that the Blade Denied should accompany their expedition. He knew that the promise of fighting alongside such a storied cult sent a cool thrill rippling under the skin of his warriors, but he had his reservations.

Personally, their presence curled his lip. Their mission was not an easy one, and wyches will always put glory and prize-winning above discipline and obedience. _Their greatest failing_. _A detestable lot,_ he mused, watching the wyches fawn over the half-armored form of Alysandrex.

The battle they so desperately crooned for would arrive soon enough, but above all else, the mission must not be forgotten. Archon Baharaz charged him with this contract - a lucrative commission, entrusted to no one else.

And for a good reason… to abduct an Inquisitor from under the nose of the Imperium... A broad smile worked its way across his face, a forked tongue running over his sharpened teeth. It was a perfect challenge, and there was no one better to complete it.

Recalling the relevant data, he examined his target once more. A small, pretty thing, her face upturned and arrogant, frozen between locks of icy hair. _She will be fun to break_, he thought. Running a talon around the smoothness of her features, he laughed. She was alluring, in a barbaric, savage way.

He could almost hear her screams as Malafar flayed her skin away, twisted her limbs into fanciful knots. The proud ones thrilled him to no end.

Dazatyhr smirked. Completing the mission would secure a plethora of treasures for himself and his warriors, one they could grow fat upon. _It will even be enough to please those damnable wyches. _And who knew? In the chaos of the raid, El'Eszthar could suffer a nasty accident.

_Such is the capricious nature of war._

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**A/N: Weiss did not handle that situation very intelligently, wouldn't you say? She's used to total, unquestioning obedience, and the Palatine doesn't enjoy the friendship the only other disobedient member of her retinue enjoys... Also, I wonder why she let Yang off so easy? Hm... I wonder...**

**Random note, but I really enjoy writing the Dark Eldar. Nasty, twisted little sweat-goblins, the lot of them.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed! Please, let me know what you thought about the chapter! I'm so flattered and honored by all your reviews so far! :)**

**Review Replies:**

**reality deviant: Thanks! Always nice to hear from you!**

**OmegaCloud696: It's honestly _never_ a good idea.**

**soupie13941: Thanks a lot for all your feedback! Really appreciate all the thought you put into your reply. I'll respond really quick without bloating my word count too much! First off, about both the romance and the show up/kill heretics/leave pattern, you raise good points, but Uriel will be a HUGE paradigm shift about how both of those things are approached. As for the romance, I see your point, but I felt since romance will feature heavily in later chapters, I felt it would disingenuous not to tag the fic with that genre. I just wanted it to be a very slow burn of sorts, and it has to be earned - no throwaway romances for the sake of having sex in the story. I also wanted to throw the 'typical 40k story' on its head a bit, since most BL books tend to be sterile when it comes to the sexuality of its characters, which often has the side effect of making them feel bland or unrealistic. **

**ATP: I mean, it's a possibility... XD **

**Gafgar: Yeah, Naja didn't really think that one through... and you were bang-on about Weiss' displeasure! **

**Kiyoushu: Aw, you're making me blush! I'm always happy to see your reviews in my inbox. As for your question, responding in any kind of direct way would spoil the story, so unfortunately, I can't say at this time. The answer will make itself known in due time.**

**Nemris: Thanks! I'm trying my hardest to make sure the battles don't get stale or over-done. :) Always happy to see your reviews!**

**snoogenz: Personally, I don't like Eclipse because Thieves' Company is _my_ OTP! And agreed - Yang is really starting to learn.**

**blaiseingfire: She has it pretty rough.**

**PredatorPuck: Thanks, dude! I think you're new around here, and if so, welcome! Always love seeing new faces!**

**Redcollecter: Thank you! I hope this chapter satisfied!**

**Dayanne Rockstar: Yeah... although it isn't touched upon too much in this chapter, it _will_ have its repercussions. Weiss' fury illustrates this nicely, I hope. As for the promise of more wargear... well... there's still a lot more ground to cover!**

**The Walrus of Eden: They are! And yeah, Weiss is in the right here. Yang did a dumb. I try and make sure the characters aren't perfect people, and that they make mistakes, This... this definitely being one of them! **

**OBSERVER01: Weiss was on hand to diffuse the tension, but it could have gotten pretty nasty... also, I expected Nora's semblance to be... idk, something_ smashier_, but this works too.**

**dvilleza: Very much so. Weiss' handling of the situation did not help.**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Hey, thanks so much! Love hearing from new people! As for "Auh", it's a very guttural bellow, think shouting "HUH", but without too much of the 'h' sound at the beginning! **

**Allard-Liao: Hahaha I always love getting reviews like yours! I did try and write this fic to cater to those new to the universe, and I'm glad to see it's paying off! I hope the introduction of the Dark Eldar went smoothly!**

**Victor L: Thanks so much! Your words mean a lot! I'm really glad you picked up on a lot of important stuff in the Weiss/Yang dynamic. It's something I worked hard on, and I'm pleased to see it's paying off! Interesting theory, btw! :)**

**RIC: Aww, you're too kind! Thrilled you're enjoying it. :)**

**mr. anonymous: I have to admit, it's pretty damn fitting! You're pretty much spot on with the whole bagpipe thing, the Woadians are based off of Nordic Scotland, sometime in the 10th century AD. :) Thanks for your review!**

**Mintskittle: Yeah, this won't go over too well. It might for this chapter, but going forwards it certainly won't. As for Ember Celica, I'm pretty sure Tyrham won't think about it as a piece of archetech... archeotech is some pretty serious shit, stuff like teleportation, STCs, and other crazy-awesome gadgets. A bit of collapsible tech probably won't impress him that much. However, this _is_ something that'll be brought up, and I think you'll be surprised by how much Tyrham and the Lady Inquisitor have collaborated! **

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**Whew! I love getting all your reviews! Always makes my day to see how much everyone's enjoying the story! Keep 'em coming, guys! :D**


	39. A Soul Like Elder Woad

**A/N: Enjoy, everyone! :D**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 38: A Soul Like Elder Woad**

"_They made the transition from sheep-fucking farmers to Guardsmen pretty Emperor-damned fast. Wonder what they were like before the all the tractors." - Veteran Sergeant Alan Jorvis_

It took the next six hours to hold the hill, repulsing half-hearted counter attacks and providing a rally point for the rest of the regiments. They took shifts as the smog above them turned from black to grey, and day stole itself upon the forge-world of Uriel.

Yang volunteered for double-duty, allowing Ros to stay with Caolin as he recovered. Bumming a stick of lho off Theni, she smoked in silence, her lasgun across her lap. The taste of Uriel's air was foul, a taste lho alleviated. From Hill Thirty Seven, she could see the entire battlefield, set aglow by burning metal hulks and corpse-piles, both trailing pillars of black into the polluted sky. How many more had she killed today? It was impossible to tell.

Lryasson'd been after her, wanting her to be the Woadian's new standard bearer. He'd been desperate, almost to the point of ordering her. One look was enough to still that notion in its infancy.

Yang would never leave Gamma.

She stole a glance at the Sisters, most of whom stood in a half-circle around their Lector, a woman named Sister Katarina. Their voices thrummed in the dawn, a low, peaceful hum that drowned out the pattering of small-arms fire echoing across the fields of twisting metal.

Fanatics though they were, Yang couldn't deny they were hard-boiled badasses. Having fancy weapons helped, sure, but the sheer energy they brought to war was only matched by her own enthusiasm. The thought made her shiver, despite the sweltering, humid heat of Uriel.

She caught herself humming along to their hymns. The words meant nothing to her, but the tune was always stirring.

"Anything out there?" Asgeg.

"Nothing," Yang said, taking a drag. "How're the lovebirds?" Asgeg chuckled, shaking out a lho stick from the pack she'd strapped to her helmet.

"Gotta light?"

Yang provided one, lighter catching the dry grey weed on the first try. Asgeg breathed deep.

"Thanks. Helps with the nausea. As for the lovebirds, they're fine. Caolin's still beat. Getting shot tends to do that." She knocked the end of her smoke against a metallic wrist to emphasize her point.

"So what's the word from Sarge?" Yang asked, blowing a bright strand of gold away from her eyes.

"Well..." Removing a data slate, she pointed at a blue dot in its center. "This is us." With a flick of smoke-laden, shaking fingers, she scrolled over to a wall of red. "And this is our target." There was a _lot_ of red.

"You okay?" Yang asked, turning over her friend's trembling metallic fingers.

"Fuck no. I almost died yesterday. Should have, really. But the Emperor was calling for me to join Him. I swear, I could hear Him."

"We charged up a hill in open ground," Yang said, ignoring the bleated piety. "We all should have died." Letting loose a long trail of smoke, she looked to the sky, where streams of tracers arced through the fog of industry. Artillery boomed too, long whistling shrieks that exploded far away, bursting into muted flashes. Yang patted her friend's pauldron. "Don't think about it. You'll drive yourself crazy. Now what's the deal with tomorrow?"

"Right," Asgeg said, a nervous grin splitting her cracked lips wide. "Were tagging along with a mechanized regiment around oh-seven-hundred standard. The Rollanders, I think. Jorvis'll get everyone roused in the next hour or so."

"We're pushing up?" Yang asked, unable to keep herself from matching Asgeg's grin.

"You bet your sweet ass. We've got to assault through two hundred klicks of heretic territory tomorrow." Yang gave a low whistle.

"Hot damn. That's quite a pace. It'll be tough keeping you clowns in one piece," Yang said, her brow furrowing. _Weiss must be desperate to reach the Forge if she's pushing us that hard. _That was a lot of treacherous ground to cover, all of it sure to be crawling with cultists. Examining the data slate, she frowned. "Why are we stopping outside the Forge?" Asgeg shrugged.

"Higher-ups want to keep the place intact. Plan out a less destructive assault. That... and something about a Titan."

"What's a titan?" Yang asked.

Asgeg opened her mouth to reply, but her eyes went wide instead, lho stick falling out her mouth to spark against her flak armor. "Uh… Asgeg?"

A shadow loomed over her, swallowing her whole.

Turning, Yang's eyes met the colossal breastplates of the biggest Sister, her face freed from a helmet for the first time.

Her face was lined by a tapestry of thin scars, all of them carved to form an intricate mural of religious significance. Wide brown eyes sat under a jutting forehead, her dyed-black hair shrouding her ears in a tangled pixie-cut.

"I want to speak with our Lady's Representative," she said, her voice pure bass given wind.

Asgeg stepped back, spreading her hands in deference. "I… uh… of course, Sister," she said. "Right away." With a worried flick of her indigo eyes, she retreated, augmentic fingers clanking against each other nervously.

"Sister," Yang said, glaring up at the titanic woman. _Is that bitch trying to intimidate me by sending her goons?_ _Good luck with that! _She was a giant, but she'd break like everything else that got in Yang's way.

The woman shifted, her armor hissing softly. "I don't want to fight," she said, face unmoving. Yang raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" Leaning back, she crossed her arms, assessing the Sister for signs of hostility. Admittedly, there were few, and her aura remained silent on the matter.

"My name is Sister Eleven," she said. "I want to discuss Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi."

"What about her?" Yang asked, eyes narrowing. _Maybe she's just here to deliver a threat. _She shook her head, taking a drag on her lho stick. _Remember what Weiss said. Don't go around making enemies I don't need. Relax, Yang! What's wrong with you?_

"I saw you fighting with her," Eleven said. Instead of taking on an accusatory tone, her voice was low and morose. "But I didn't see what started it. When the Emperor calls me to duty, I can't focus on much else."

"And?" Yang prodded, curious about the Sister's intentions.

"Don't cross her," Eleven said. Yang was about to retort before the Sister put a hand on her shoulder, fingers consuming her pauldron in its entirety. "She is frustrated and short-tempered. Her dedication and faith in the Emperor are unshakable… but I've known her to be rash as well."

_Not what I expected, _Yang thought, eyes tracing the expert bladework that marked Sister Eleven. She'd sat through enough long-winded (and mandatory) church sessions to recognize the image: the winged Saint Sanguinius standing victorious atop a vanquished foe. Around it were runes in a crude, unreadable script, one that trailed down her cheeks and leaked onto her neck.

"Our order is among the most temperate of the Adepta Sororitas," the Sister continued. "But the Palatine's spirit is like a forest fire. The fit is… not ideal."  
"You know her pretty well then?" Yang asked. _What's her goal here?_

"Yes," Eleven replied. "She rescued me from my homeworld." Her brown eyes parsed the distant Forge. "It was place of darkness. Only the light of the Emperor shone through the ever-night. Predators the size of thunderhawks patrolled the forests. Humans are prey there, small tribes that huddle in leather huts up in the tall-trees"

"And I thought Ranshu was as bad as it gets," Yang huffed. Vadiik had never mentioned planets so lacking in basic… everything. _A little bit like Remnant_, she thought bitterly.

"Families were fleeting things," Eleven said. "Children are not expected to survive, so they are numbered, not named." Looking down at Yang, she blinked. "We only live for the Emperor. Some chose to turn from his light. Heretics."

"Let me guess: the Palatine swooped down to kill them all?"

Eleven nodded.

"She bathed the world in cleansing fire. In light. I lost everything in the fighting, and by the grace of Retributor Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi and the Emperor, I left, taken into the Sororitas." The booming roll of an artillery barrage sounded out, Basilisks spitting out spent shells across a kilometer-long battery. "Her faith in me has never faltered since that day. She is the best person I will ever know."

Yang watched Eleven's face. Sanguinius did not stir.

"You remind me of her. I don't know why," she said, before lapsing into a pause. "You shouldn't fight. We're here to purge the enemy."

Yang sighed. "I know that," she said, flicking the end of her lho stick. The woman's thick lips turned upwards in a courteous smile.

"I am happy to hear that."

"You got it, Sister," Yang said, putting on a smile. "Just… keep her away from me, okay?" Naja knew she was a psyker. Weiss' comments about their zealotry were well-founded, and their opinions on 'witches' were _very_ clear. Though she knew the Inquisitor technically commanded total obedience, Yang wasn't naive enough to believe it would last forever.

If the Palatine started shit and word got out, she could never go back to Gamma.

"I'll try, Trooper," Eleven said. "And know, if you were not so beloved of the Inquisitor, there would be no... polite discussion."

Finishing her lho stick,Yang flicked it away, watching it fall between two sheets of corrugated steel.

"Would you like to pray with me?" Eleven asked, her tone recovering its gentle timbre.

"Thanks, but I've said my prayers for today."

Nodding, Sister Eleven retreated, her huge, loping form off to rejoin her comrades. Yang watched her go, mind whirring. _What was that about? What does she see in me? I remind her of the Palatine?_ The thought curdled the taste of lho on her tongue. Shaking her head, she tucked a strand of gold behind her ear. _If they try anything, I'll hurt them. Bad. Not just gonna roll over if it means keeping peace._

"Fucking Emperor she's big," Asgeg said, sidling up next to her. Yang let out a snort of laughter. "What'd she want?"

"Told me to back off her boss," she said, half-grinning.

"Damn," Asgeg said, letting loose a low whistle. "You're blessed that she didn't just start hitting. The rest of us plebeians are lucky if we get a nasty glance once in awhile."

"Friendly, aren't they?" Yang asked, nudging her friend.

"They're the Emperor's Will made flesh," Asgeg said. "But yeah, they're also pretty fucking scary."

Yang laughed for real at that. Patting the crown of her friend's helmet, she grabbed at her friend's pack of lho-sticks. Asgeg slapped her hand away, rolling her eyes.

"You know, I saw the Palatine hit you," she said, eyes turning to steel.

"She didn't exactly try and be sneaky about it," Yang replied.

Asgeg crouched down, retrieving her data pad once more. "Yang," she whispered, hesitant and hissed. "If… if she wants to start another fight…. we're with you."

"Who? What?"

"All of us. I talked it over with Ros and the others. You've done a lot for us, Yang. You've saved us all, time and time again. Hell, you killed a squad of traitor marines!" She said, leaning forward. "I… I don't care that the Sisters pray until their knees bleed like a five-crown hooker's. I don't care that the Palatine's chainsword is bigger than I am. If she wants to pick a fight, we're behind you. 1st Company. Gamma Platoon. Woadians all," she intoned, her lips forming a silent 'Áuh'.

Yang sighed, running her hands through her hair. "That… means a lot Asgeg." She frowned, thinking of Weiss' words. "But please, don't start anything yourselves." _You're such a hypocrite. You're practically begging for an excuse to pummel her. _"I don't want you to get hurt." That much was true, at least.

"You got it, girl. I mean, we're behind you, but we're not out to start anything. We're reckless, not insane."

Laughing, Yang punched her friend's shoulder. Harder than she intended to. "Good to hear it." Pointing at the data slate, she gestured at a flashing icon towards a flashing blue icon. "So what's the deal with this 'titan' thing?"

Asgeg shrugged.

* * *

At oh-six-hundred, they found out. It was a mech, but putting it in the same class as mechs from Remnant was a fucking _joke_. It was, as Imperial constructions tend to be, sized on a ludicrous scale. It was at least fifty meters tall. Each step it took was an earthquake in motion, the ultimate expression of destruction wrought into mortal form by creaking metal and colossal cannons.

"Fuck me, that's a beautiful sight," Jorvis said, grinning as he took a puff on his morning cigar. "It might make my eye leak a bit of oil, if I say so myself." Yang agreed with him. Forty klicks felt like a joke now, a paltry test run for the juggernaut before them. A foot landed, making Yang's guts churn.

"Hot damn." Ros whispered. Mael's lips worked, his fingers kneading the beads of Rhain's necklace.

"Atten-shun!" Jorvis bellowed, pointing to the cusp of the hill. Around them, a tide of growling steel surrounded them, the 50th Rolland Mechanized requisitioned for the Woadian's use by the Lady Inquisitor. The woman herself stood before them, crowning the bulking hull of the _In My Spirit_. Accompanying her was the Colonel and Ira, each looking dour. She'd not removed her helmet.

"Under the gaze of the Mechanicus' mightiest steed, we march to war!" She shouted. Rabid cries met her declaration, thousands of fists thrown to the mottled sky with breathless enthusiasm. "Go now, find your commanders. Be free to make war, my friends! The liberation of Uriel begins today!" A roar of approval echoed across Hill Thirty Seven, one Yang added to.

They mounted up, every trooper clambering on top of the troop carriers. Boots by the thousands rang off their hulls, a noise joined by swelling voices. Jet wash buffeted them, the Sister's thunderhawks swooping low to recover their passengers.

Yang leapt atop their assigned vehicle, a bulky Chimera with the words 'Lance of Ollanius' splashed across the hull. She helped her friends on board, hauling them up with a ready grin. One that they matched. The rest of Gamma crammed themselves within the hull, sardines in a death-dealing can.

Striking a pose atop the turret (a three-barreled multilas), she surveyed the battlefield. Far in the distance, she could see small dots scurrying around. The cultists were in a panic, and rightly so. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the titan advancing, each step jarring its massive shoulder-mounted cannons, each step sending small quakes through the twisted surface of Uriel. Then, it came to rest, just before the Imperial battle lines. Yang and her friends exchanged a few questioning glances.

A noise burst forth from the titan, a low, blaring horn. It carried no melody, no artistry, only a gnawing echo that ran brassy fingers up Yang's spine and made her shudder with pleasure. It was the sound of war, boiled down to its most basic, primal form.

Then it fired.

It was like a volcano erupting, the unremitting blast shattering the relative calm of Uriel. It sent the enemy lines up into a crater-marked pyre, fireballs roaring into existence and soaring skyward.

The mech was almost a kilometer away, and it was still deafening. Yang didn't care. With a victorious roar, she threw a fist forward, elation ruling her face. The Woadians took up her cry, their spirits soaring as they watched the titan resume its advance. Nothing could stand before them.

The _Lance_ belched smoke as its engine ignited, its throaty purr barely audible over thier ringing ears. The rest of the Rollander vehicles followed suit, their motors guzzling promethium like a drowning man guzzles water.

"Forward, at full speed!" The Lady Inquisitor ordered, her vox-augmented voice reaching across Hill Thirty Seven and pouring into Yang's microbead. Her words were confident and strong, but she heard the note of urgency too, well-disguised to those who were not familiar with the Inquisitor.

They rolled forward, a tide of muscle and steel that surged over the broken earth in unstoppable force. The titan shone once more, carving a path for them with a salvo of death. From its arms burst forth two lasbeams bright enough to bring day to the fogged world. Where they struck, the ground spewed forth a geyser of molten metal and a maelstrom of shrapnel.

Laughing and cheering, the 111th charged forth.

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**A/N: Special news today, everyone! This chapter marks the one-year anniversary of this fic's beginning! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me so far! I love all you guys!**

**Oh, and by the way, the Titan's a Warlord-class, the size of which is legendarily unclear. I decided upon a happy medium, which is still fuck-huge.**

**Sorry this chapter isn't all that much, it being the anniversary, after all. :( **

**Hope you guys liked it anyways!**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: I guess we'll find out, won't we? :)**

**Allard-Liao: Hey that's awesome! I always like hearing that I inspired people to read more! **

**reality deviant: You might just get your wish...**

**Victor L: Thanks so much for your extended review! I'm glad you're liking Ira! OCs are always a tricky topic to tackle, so I'm glad people aren't actively hating them. :)**

**Nemris: I do like the Dark Eldar (they're one of my favorite factions), but I still think they're disgusting, evil little sweat-goblins. Thanks for all your input!**

**snoogenz: That's definitely what Weiss was insinuating! I'm glad you liked the dark eldar's introduction! It's tough shifting into their POV after doing exclusively humans for so long!**

**blaiseingfire: As you could see in this chapter, they totally could if they wanted to... but the Palatine is obeying the Inquisitor's wishes and keeping her trap shut about everything.**

**The Pyromaniac: Right? I think their arrogance might be a bit misplaced...**

**Kiyoushu: Ha! Thanks for that, it actually made me giggle. :D**

**PredatorPuck: I'm glad you think so! I try pretty hard to jkeep it interesting! **

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: I'm enjoying it, but I have to take a break! School's rearing its ugly head...**

**MrTerrorist: Damn straight!**

**ATP: Well, drones being all heretical as shit (kinda, they're almost like servitors), it's a little tough to implement them into the Imperium's arsenal. Plus, without drones, you can't engage in GLORIOUS MELEE COMBAT!**

**OBSERVER01: Thankfully the Sisters seem to be playing nice... for now... but yeah, the Dark Eldar might cause the Lady Inquisitor's warband some trouble... **

**Gafgar: Hehe! I laughed when I saw that review, knowing that they would be here... eventually...**

**y1fellas: I guess we'll find out, won't we?**

**soupie13941: I guess that's one way of putting it! Thanks so much for all your reviews!**

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**Thank you EVERYONE for all your follows, faves, reviews, and support this past year! I love all you guys, and get ready for even more RWBYHammer 40k shenanigans in the coming year! :D**


	40. Gold

**A/N: Thanks to my pal SharkGlue for helping with this chapter. :)**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 39: Gold**

"_Like the smell of a rose on a summer's day/I will be there to take all your fears away/with a touch of my hand I will turn your life to gold." - __**[REDACTED]**_

Alan Jorvis patted the front pocket of his fatigues. To his disappointment, he found but a single cigar remaining.

He wasn't as young as he used to be. No one pushes seventy-two standard without incurring constant aches and pains. Tapping his eye to clear the static, he sighed. He was tired. It had been twelve hours after setting forth, a long day, a day full of bloodshed and a constant storm of noise. Rarely had he ever covered so much ground in such little time. Watching the titan in action... well… there were still some blessings left to him in his age. _Fucking beautiful is what it was_, he thought. Now, the great war-beast rested two klicks away, its hull hunched, crawling with support crews and red-robed ants.

It'd taken most of the day, but they reached their destination, just outside the Forge. Before them stood a castle, a munitions factory crawling with shit-eating cultists. _Emperor-damned worms_. If it weren't for them, the Inquisitor's business on Uriel would be trivial, but now she had to bow and scrape to the whims of the Mechanicus. How they _screeched _when she wanted to push onto the foundry. Babbling about their weird Omnissiah and all the technology within. _Golden Throne of Terra, they are an eerie lot._

_Praise technology all you want_, Jorvis decided as he stepped off the Chimera, _there's nothing that can replace the heart of a pure soldier_. Stretching, his joints popped and snapped. Under his flak armor, they were inaudible. Good. His squad shouldn't have to hear their leader showing signs of age like that. Bad for morale.

He'd been a Sergeant for fifty years now, the better half of his life. He grinned as he looked out over Gamma. These people reminded him why he'd turned down the promotion every time it came knocking around. They were the epitome of what it meant to be human. Strong, tightly-knit, viciously effective.

"Hey Sarge." And for the most part - obedient.

"Trooper Xiao Long," he said, acknowledging her with a curt nod. _This woman… by the Emperor's rotten balls, she's a mystery._ If she was born on Woadia, he would eat his beret… and his chainsword to boot. Never before had he seen a soldier like her. She was blessed, even if her arrogance and flippant attitude said otherwise. However, tonight she looked haggard and worn, like when she slipped out of the barracks thinking no one would see her.

"What do you need, Trooper?" He asked. She'd taken double watch last night, and it showed. Spending the day flushing out the arch-foe did her no favors.

"Mind if I take first watch?" His eye whirred as it appraised her. Matted locks of gold slipped out from underneath her helmet, shocks of color against the gunmetal ocean that was Uriel. Behind her, the Forge swallowed the world's misted sun. He chuffed, a half-laugh.

"Telling jokes on duty is strictly prohibited, Trooper," he said. "Get some Emperor-damned rest. I know you're worried about Piss-Pants and the rest of the dick-suck brigade, but frankly I don't give a shit." She was his best. Best in the whole damned regiment. The way she worked that sword of hers… well, it wasn't graceful, but it was damned murderous. "You see that foundry over there," he said, pointing at tomorrow's objective. It was almost thirty stories high, and its front was littered with scaffolding and gaping doors, kill-zones hungry for blood. "That place is gonna be a fucking nightmare. I want you at a hundred percent."

"Sarge," she debated, getting that look in her eyes. The look that sent his wrinkled skin crawling. It was the gaze of someone who follows orders not out of duty or loyalty, but for convenience's sake.

"Whatever you're about to say, I don't wanna hear it. I'm taking first watch. Get some fucking sleep, Trooper." Grumbling, she marched away, slinging her lasgun over her shoulder. At least she obeyed, no matter how reluctantly.

Night fell upon Uriel as the shadows from the cloud-piercing city blackened. Around him, the 50th Rolland Mechanized formed a protective line of plasteel, around which a multitude of soldiers congregated.

He gave out the night's orders before climbing atop a Chimera, ready to start the first watch. His troopers needed rest. Jorvis was an old man, but he wasn't lazy. The Woadians were strong, adaptable soldiers, but they hadn't seen a twentieth of the battlefields he'd witnessed.

Lighting his remaining cigar, he stared off towards the factory. Tomorrow might spell the end for all of them. Fighting inside such a massive space could be a massacre. _We've been lucky so far… inordinately so_. He had faith in the Emperor, and he had faith in his Regiment. These ass-backwards agri-world hill-jakes got downright mean when they wanted to be. Perhaps they'd scrape by again. Hell, they had the Sisters with them, and the Inquisitor as well. Angelic killers, them. Standing in their presence was like having the Emperor's hand on your shoulder.

He smoked in silence, watching the camp settle down. By the time his cigar was half ash, calm engulfed the Imperial forces. Knocking it against the multi-las, he watched the grey scatter to the faint wind. Silence reigned.

When it was gone, the darkness was total. He scanned the horizon once more, bionic eye in night-vision mode. Jorvis huffed. Even when rendered in lime-green, Uriel was an ugly fucking planet.

With the slick whisper of perverse metal, a knife was at his throat. His hand reached shot towards his bolt pistol, but a pale hand had wrapped itself around his mouth, an unflinching foot pinning his wrist.

"Ah ah ah, none of that now," a voice hissed into his ear. It was no human voice, Jorvis knew by the way it slithered into his ear, wrapped itself around his mind like a vice. It belonged to a being far older than himself, dripping with the evil of xenos treachery.

He struggled more, desperate to free himself.

"Shhhh, shhhh, little mon'keigh," the voice said again. The knife creeped into his vision, a sliver of black edged in the foulest of poisons. Notched and twisted into deformity, it gleamed with desire for his blood. "Any noise, and it'll taste your flesh. Just a nick, mind you. I will relish the agony."

Jorvis was powerless, and hate flowed through every nerve and artery. _Eldar! The slippery, pointy-eared fuck-mothering degenerates!_ His eyes flicked over the camp. No one moved, and all were ignorant to his plight.

"That's right, little one. I am not incapable of mercy. I require only one thing from you. Tell me, and you will live to see the dawn." Jorvis almost choked on the invective that scoured his throat, desperate to be free from this monster's fingers. When the xenos spoke again, menace dripped from every syllable. "This Lady Inquisitor… where is she? How many guards attend her person? Are these questions you can answer?" His mind raced, desperate for an advantage, a few more seconds, anything. He nodded against the foul-smelling palm.

"How droll, mon'keigh. This pleases Dazatyhr. Now listen… I shall remove my hand but for a moment… when I do so, you will whisper to me what I wish to know." Looking out over the camp, Jorvis' bionic eye saw shifting forms of black amidst the sea of green. How any being could step so silently, move so languidly… it birthed a broiling nausea within him. They stole themselves upon the camp, creeping closer and closer to his squad. One crouched near Trooper Xiao Long, reaching out for her.

"Do you understand, mon'keigh?" He nodded once more. "Good." _Emperor be with you, Gamma. Emperor be with you, Yang Xiao Long, whoever you are. _The fingers that clamped themselves over his mouth parted, revealing a wide, toothy smile.

* * *

"**XEEENNOOOSSSS!**" The cry pierced the night before dying away in a rush of blood and a gurgled death-scream. It rocked Yang from her brief rest, eyelids flung open from a troubled, bloody dream. In a heartbeat, her aura was pumping through every inch of her being, hyper-awareness howling 'danger'.

Before her, a black gauntlet reached for her throat, its fingers coated in spines. Behind the gauntlet crouched… _something_, its form long and lanky, wholly unnatural. Red lenses from its pointed helm appraised her, thirsting for her.

Yang snarled, and time slowed as adrenaline surged through her. Wrapping her fingers around the creature's wrist, she yanked him forward, swinging her other fist into his cuirass. Ember Celica roared as it broke the onyx metal with a shrieking crunch, and she felt bone shatter beneath her knuckles.

His body snapped from the force, an arm ripped away from its host. Yang screamed, anger and worry coursing through her. _Where's Ros? What's going on? _A cry went up to the smog-shrouded stars, the keening wail of a predator's bloodlust. The creatures fell upon them in numbers, a mass of lithe forms in pointed armor. She ripped her sword free from its scabbard, ready to defend her friends.

"Yang!" Ros screamed, diving for her lasgun. Hearing her friend, she danced backwards, scanning the advancing forms for challengers.

"Ros, you okay?"

"I'm fine, what the fuck is-" she didn't have chance to finish, as one of the things launched itself forwards, half of her supple body exposed to the elements. Ros blasted her with a burst of lasbolts, knocking her aside before Yang split her in two.

"Ambush!" Caolin managed, joining them. "Xenos!" _He's right_, Yang thought as she scooped up her lasgun. _These are the 'eldar' Vadiik told me about. The armor matches her descriptions perfectly!_

She let loose a barrage of fire, hoping to connect with a few of her shots. Chaos reigned in the camp, shrieks and shrill yells filling her ears from every angle. "Get behind me!" She shouted at her friends, gesturing behind a Chimera. _If what she told me is true, they're no match for these animals. _And if what Vadiik told her about their prisoners was true… she shook her head. _They die _here_._

"Where the hell is Jorvis?" Asgeg cried, diving down under a hail of invisible rounds. They split the air with winnowing streaks, embedding themselves in Woadians and Rollanders alike. Each one fell screaming, twitching and writhing in agony. One ricocheted off Yang's aura, the too-familiar lick of her semblance flaring up, only to be bitten down.

"I don't know!" Theni replied, firing into the dark. "Yang?" She knew who rang out the alarm, and how it ended. Their sergeant was no more.

"No idea," Yang lied. "Fuck!" These eldar were lightning quick, a far cry from cultists, and even more nimble than the corrupted astartes. Getting a bead on them was damn near impossible. They poured over the front line of Chimeras, howling with glee. They were even faster than most Hunters.

"Get some fucking suppressive fire down!" Ros screamed, slicing her hand at the tide of eldar. Gamma obeyed, most of them now alert and equipped. _This is bad! We're out in the open, and they're fucking everywhere!_ The platoon coalesced into a semi-circle around a Chimera, with Yang and Ros at its center.

"Theni!" Ros bellowed, "Get up on that bolter! NOW, dammit!" He leapt at her order, scrambling in his haste to crawl atop the APC.

"Yeah, fuck you, xenos!" Asgeg cried against her lasgun. "Watch the flanks! Watch our flanks!" She continued, pivoting. Mael grunted with panic, trying to loose shots from his lasgun while dropping a rocket down the barrel of his launcher.

_Madness. This is fucking _madness_._

The eldar tore through their comrades like tissue paper, dancing through the guardsman with silken grace. Soon, the lines were indistinguishable, a sprawling pit of wails and the sounds of ripping flesh.

"Ros?" Caolin asked, eyes wide and questioning. If they kept firing, they couldn't avoid hitting the rest of First Company.

"Keep firing," she gasped, her lips twisted into a mask of hate, eyes watery and shining. "Just… pray for them." Yang roared in frustration as Gamma resumed their fire, scything down friend and foe alike in the chaos. Theni let loose with the pintle-minted bolter, the weapon's distinctive clattering sending up chunks of gore from the entanglement.

"Emperor preserve us," Ros blubbered, ripping a smoking battery from her lasgun. She loaded a fresh one without missing a beat before resuming her barrage.

"Fuck!" Yang bellowed, trying to place her shots. She wanted to leap into the fray where she could let loose with Ember Celica. It looked like a good fight, but she didn't dare let her eyes off her friends, not in this chaos.

"Incoming, on the right!" Asgeg hollered, smoke pouring from her lasgun as it belched a river of red death. "Eyes on, eyes on!" A pocket of eldar surged towards Gamma, all women. They wore the same garb, with half of their bodies wrapped in wicked armor, the other half naught but pale, naked flesh.

They stormed forward, each of them wailing in ecstasy. It boiled Yang's blood and split her ears. On their wrists they wore gnarled gauntlets, each one protruding bladed crystal that glowed a sickly yellow. They danced and weaved around Gamma's fire, shadows given liquid motion. Only a few fell, charred holes in their pale flesh belching smoke. Mael loosed a rocket at them, catching the closest one in a plume of shrapnel and purple ichor.

"Teach you to fight with your tits out!" Ros hollered. Yang's hand wound tight around her power sword. If no one stopped them, it'd be a massacre.

"Hold the line!" She said, leaping forward beyond Gamma's feeble defensive line.

"Yang!" Ros bellowed, reaching out for her friend. It was too late. Yang's feet hammered against metal, each stride catapulting her towards the eldar.

"Fucking **die**, you monsters!" She cried, the blue of her sword flashing bright as the sun. She swung into the enemy with all her might, only to find her blade buried in the earth. The woman she'd tried to hit already outflanked her, monomolecular crystal arcing for her back. Yang ducked under the blow, throwing a wild slash at the eldar. She dodged the blow just as easily, a forked tongue rasping over her violet-black lips.

The others swarmed her, desperate to bring her down. One, two, three hits scored off her aura, yellow slashes that her semblance drank in greedily. Each strike fueled her anger, poured octane into her muscles.

She lashed out with her sword, shearing the face of her opponent. One snarled in anger, rolling off her back and needling her with strikes. Ember Celica swung around, hitting nothing but fogged air. With a wordless roar, she struck again, her opponent dancing just out of range. _They're just like Neo_, Yang thought, stepping away from a strike meant to pierce her heart. The gauntlet soared past, scoring a harmless gouge across the breast of her flak armor. _Slippery fuckers!_ A quick glance back at Gamma told her they were holding… for now.

The second's distraction brought a blade into her gut. Ignoring it, Yang lunged forwards, splitting the woman's skull with her forehead. One slammed into her flank, throwing her off her feet and sending the pair flying into a crater. She lost her sword and the battle disappeared, swallowed by walls of twisted metal.

Yang locked eyes with her opponent. The eldar's gaze was half-lidded, her lips pulled away from a brace of brilliant white teeth. It turned her stomach.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Yang hollered, spraying the creature with flecks of spittle. She buried Ember Celica into her gut, a blast of pellets scoring against her armor. They disengaged, rolling away from each other before crouching into fighting stances.

"Please!" She responded, her voice shrill and eager. "You're unlike any mon'keigh I've ever seen! I will treasure your death!"

"Try me, bitch!" Yang said, her feet bouncing up and down. Despite everything, she found a grin splitting her face. _Finally, a good fight! It's been too long!_ The eldar dashed forward, a hurricane of blades. Yang danced back, her boots tapping a light step against the broken earth. Ember Celica met the crystal, sparks ringing out as the weapons collided.

Their dance was an elegant one, a flurry of steps and strikes, Yang unleashed a barrage of punches, each one sailing past their target or carefully redirected by the eldar's fluid, impossible speed.

"RRRRRRAAAAHH!" She screamed as another punch was batted aside. The gauntlet punched into her stomach, pushing her back.

"Most mon'keigh can't withstand the loving touch of my weapon," The woman cooed, a split tongue spilling out from her lips to caress the flat of her blades. "You would most certainly win us glory in our arena. Perhaps killing you can wait." Yang said nothing, her chest heaving with sharp breaths. If she let her aura free, she could pummel her to death. But it might take a while, and her friends couldn't last long against the aliens' sickening grace. Playing this creature's games would get her nowhere. _Reach out for the warp_, someone said.

"I'll take that as a compliment, _xenos_," Yang countered, spitting the word out. _Dust, that felt good_. "But you're not leaving this ditch alive." The alien giggled at her. Yang's nostrils flared, her brow splitting into a rictus of fury. _Yes!_ _Use your power, your radiant soul! Reach out..._

"Ooh, feisty," the alien said.

Aura pumped into her veins, and she felt her hair leap from her shoulders. Yang felt a shiver of pleasure coursing through her as a flash of uneasiness flickered in the xeno's eyes. This twisted cunt didn't deserve Ember Celica. With a steep, sharp breath, she set aside the voice that demanded she rip the woman limb from limb. Instead, she recalled Weiss' lessons. _Yes!_

"A psyker too," the xenos tried, voice wavering, "and a durable one at that."

"You're not in control anymore, no matter what you think," Yang replied simply.

"I am Alysandrex, Succubus of the Blade Denied! I won't be talked down to by a mon'keigh!" The xenos shouted.

Looking within herself, Yang cast the net of her soul, breaking through the mental barriers and calling upon the power of the warp. Voices assailed her by the hundreds, each one screaming a thousand truths and as many lies, each battering at the walls of her aura, slipping temptations and promises and powers and greeds and lusts into her soul. Her shoulder burned like someone had pressed a brand against it.

Yang screamed in pain before harnessing the agony of it all, pushing it into her being and willing the endless wellspring of madness into her voice, bellowing out her grief and rage and hope at the woman before her.

Warp-fire burst from her lips, dousing the xeno in a torrent of roaring orange-gold flames. The xenos screamed, slapping at the unquenchable inferno that ate away her flesh and armor. Her pale skin blackened and sloughed as she writed in torment, the fat of her breasts and stomach devoured by the otherworldly flames.

"Choke on it," Yang spat, stomping past the twitching mass of smoldering offal. Touching the warp had scattered her thoughts, and left her shaking. She tried to muscle through. Her friends were in danger, and she wasn't done yet.

* * *

Dazatyhr snarled in rage as he tore through the mon'keigh. His darklight lance purred with pleasure as it cut a swathe of death through the black-armored primitives. Each one burst into nothingness, consumed by a flash of un-being that rent their feeble bodies from reality. He danced and swerved among them, untouchable as his knife claimed their lives.

The mission was not going as planned. Not only had that boot-licking mon'keigh sacrificed itself like a vainglorious fool, but its pathetic cry of distress had alerted its kin. Instead of cowardice and confusion, the primitive camp was studded with pockets of panicked resistance.

_And the wyches!_

_Those detestable wyches!_ As predicted_, _they were more concerned with taking captives and practicing their inane artistry than the task at hand. His trueborn officers remained with him however, carving through the mon'keigh as they pushed towards their target.

He could see her, a crude sword in her hand swinging back and forth as she ordered her underlings around. His frustration evaporated once he realized her attentions were directed elsewhere. A few precise blasts from his splinter pistol, and she'd be ripe for the taking.

A mon'keigh died underneath him, split in half by a careless swipe of his knife. It screamed and wept, stumpy hands clenching as it tried to accept the fact of its death. In his ear, his kabal howled orders and commendations to each other, reveling in the slaughter.

Striking deep into the mon'keigh battle-lines, Dazatyhr signalled his officers. _The time to strike is now._ They wheeled around, slicing apart any primitive stupid enough to cross them and fast enough to reach them. The seven of them were a blur, the striking tip of a spear.

Closer.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his splinter pistol, wrenching it free of its holster.

Closer.

She was unaware. Ripe, easy prey. A hidden smile split his face. _Success is mine!_

Red filled his vision as searing lasbolts lit into his officers. Two of them stumbled and rolled, momentum pitching them forward despite the smoking holes in their chest. A streak of crimson robes fell upon them.

A metallic mon'keigh swathed in red cut his best warriors apart like succulent meat. Its swords whirred like machinery, one catching Vandrax across the stomach. He stumbled and backpedaled in pain before the blades flashed once more, each one paring more from him until he was but a single foot. Viscera rained down upon him, and he realized he was alone. El'Ezereth and the other officers had deserted him.

"Treachery! Cowards!" He shrieked. "I-Impossible!" He managed.

"Quite possible, xenos," a woman replied. She raised her fist, and the monstrous, blood-soaked mon'keigh stood down. The Inquisitor stalked towards him. His target. Faintly, he was aware of the dimming sounds of battle. Dazatyhr couldn't be sure, everything seemed to vanish around the Inquisitor, swallowed by the strangling force of her presence.

"I've come for you, Inquisitor," he said, pushing down the fear that swelled within him. Death here was nothing compared to the punishment for failure. "Prepare yourself." She did not reply as expected. A laugh escaped her, devoid of mirth.

"You amuse me, xenos. Your coming was as subtle as a battleship." She waved her hands, and a swirling black rune sprung into existence at his feet, splaying him against the ground, helpless and vulnerable. With a chill-wind whisper, a blade of ice jammed itself into his spine. Pain exploded through every core of his being before Dazatyhr felt nothing at all.

The Inquisitor stepped forward, and panic demanded he flee, but his limbs refused to obey. He forced his lips to curse and spit, but they only drooled into a pool of Vandrax's blood. Her fingers wrapped around his chin and she turned his face, inspecting him as one would a slave.

"You and what remains of your kin will make an excellent goodwill gift to Magos Prexius," she said. "Tyrham's depraved pet enjoys her toys, after all. She will be quite pleased with you, I think. It is very rarely that such fine specimens of Commorragh find themselves in such a... troublesome predicament."

Her gauntlet enveloped his face, and when Dazatyhr tried to scream, naught but silence escaped him.

* * *

Yang leapt over the side of the crater, scooping up her sword as her feet skidded across the ground. When she saw the xenos among Gamma, her heart leapt into her throat, borne on the back of green bile. Bounding forward, she bellowed a wordless war-cry. One reached for Ros, taut muscles in its bare leg straining with battle-lust.

Screaming, Yang launched herself forward with a double burst from Ember Celica. Bringing her legs up, she smashed into the xenos, feeling the creature break from the sheer impact.

Pressing her knees into it, she ground its body against the rusted earth of Uriel. Lacing her fingers through the alien's onyx-rose hair, she bashed her face against a rusted pipe.

"HANDS."

Again.

"OFF."

_Again._

"MY."

_**AGAIN!**_

"FRIEND!"

Breathing deep, she let the corpse fall, its pulp-mash skull dripping off her fingers. She grinned. Around her, the xenos were fleeing, dashing across the field of corpses and dancing over the Chimeras. Retreating as quickly as they came.

_Good_, a voice said. _Cowards_. Yang shook herself before she felt long hands wrap themselves around her wrist, yanking her towards a squadron of twisted skimmers. Their escape craft. Ember Celica blasted her attempted captor, pellets eating into her exposed flesh. Another crunching bellow of her shotgun-gauntlets ate the xenos' face away.

Yang wrenched her other arm free, heading back for Gamma. She could already see them recovering, shaking and throwing hopeful lasbolts at the vanishing xenos. Theni screamed, shuddering and whimpering as some black toxin pulsed through his veins.

A scream caught her attention.

"YANG!"

Whipping around, she saw Ros in the arms of a xenos, her face streaming tears and blood flowing from a gash on her cheek.

"ROS!" Yang screamed, panic taking her.

_Oh no no no no no no no no no no _

"ROS!" She repeated. By the front lines of Rollander Chimeras, the torturous fliers swooped low, kicking up loose rust as the eldar clambered aboard. They were already a hundred meters away, her friend swallowed up in a sea of twisted ebony armor.

"ROS!" She bellowed, breaking into a sprint. Her feet flew across the battlefield, over the bodies of comrades and xenos alike, all stewing in pools of gore.

_No no no no no no no no no_

"I'm coming for you!" She said, "hold tight!" Ros heard her cries, twisting around the grip of her captors to face her. She reached out for Yang, lips working as tears streamed down her face. The xenos shoved her back, packing her aboard with dozens of their comrades. "_ROS!_"

"Yang!" The cry was faint, but she could hear it above the turmoil. "_Help,_" Her friend's voice rang out above everything, and the world around her seemed to deafen and die. Ros' cry was warbling and stained with salt, her hair flowing in the wind, hair that was red like roses.

Each stride took her a dozen meters. Aura pushed every bounding step to its limits, too fast for the hail of projectiles the xenos heaved upon her. The wind slapped at her face as she dashed to free her friend. When she brought her lasgun to bear, a pulse of baleful blue engines carried the fliers away, sending them soaring towards the clouded sky.

Yang screamed until blood flowed from her throat.

"ROS!" A brace of needling projectiles struck her, knocking her aside and throwing her onto the corpse of a bifurcated Woadian. She leapt to her feet. _Weiss! Weiss can help, _she realized. Pressing her microbead into her ear, she tried to drown out the noise and the brazen whispers that assaulted her. Each second, the crafts soared higher, farther away into the night.

"Weiss! They took my friend! Get a valkyrie on them, ASAP!" She cried, "They're just above the foundry, you can still catch them." Static answered her. "Weiss?"  
"Yang… I can't." The words were daggers, long crystal blades that skewered Yang to the earth. Uriel swayed and shook, her aura burning low, the Inquisitor's words cutting more cleanly than any sword.

"Weiss," she said, swallowing a mouthful of blood. "You are going to bring those fliers down, or give me something so I can do it myself."

"Y-"

"NOW!" Yang screeched, "Right Emperor-fucking _now_, you stupid cunt! ARE YOU DEAF?! I DON'T CARE WHAT IT TAKES, YOU BRING MY FRIEND BACK _**NOW!**_"

"Chung's engaged right now, and the skies are still contested. Scream all you like," the voice said, the voice of the Inquisitor, the voice of not-Weiss, "I can't do anything about it. She's... gone."

Yang's knees wobbled, a weakness stabbing itself into her legs until they couldn't support her weight. She fell.

"There's nothing I can do," the Inquisitor said. "I'm… sorry."

Yang screamed, hands pulling at the matted gold that consumed her face.

"YANG!" The Inquisitor cried, furious. She ripped the microbead from her ear, crushing it underneath the heel of her boot, grinding it into scrap. Each breath was labored and heavy, sucked through clenched teeth. Yang shook.

"Y-Yang?" Caolin asked, his boots scraping the earth as his feet carried him towards her. "I… she…" She didn't dare turn around, meet his eyes. His pain rolled out from every fiber of his being, black tendrils that wrapped themselves around her, feeding her, strangling her. "Ros… oh Emperor. Emperor. Emperor. Emperor. No." His words seemed so soft and pitiful, a child's in the midst of a riot. "No, Emperor, no, no, no." He didn't ask a thing of Yang, he said nothing but a litany of prayer and denial that tumbled out his mouth in a jumbled mess of scattered words. Her fists hammered the earth as tears fell from her face and disappeared into the tangled mess of scrap they trod upon.

"Yang," Caolin said, reaching out for her, his hand pulling at her pauldron. "E-easy." Yang rounded on him, furor at a fever pitch. He didn't flinch, didn't budge. Where Caolin once stood was an old man, stained with gore and grime. Weak, trembling shoulders hung limp at his side, eyes robbed of light. "Y-Yang," he said, throat working. "What happened?"

"They took her," she managed, each word tasting like Ruby. "They took her from me."

no please don't go ruby, please no

it's okay yang, shh, shh... c'mon let me see that smile of yours

no please you can't i love you so much

help me yang

Ros screamed, hand reaching out promise broken broken broken shattered gone dead and then she was ruby

you _promised_

"Oh Emperor, I loved her so much," Caolin said, reaching into his pocket. Yang barely heard him, she was too busy drowning. "It's not fair. L-look Yang, here's… here's us in Bardigaal."

that's the sappiest shit i've heard in a long time

hahahaha

but damn does it feel good to hear

"That asshole Koris cheated on her the day she left, I guaran-fucking-tee it. She never saw how he looked at other w-women. F-f-fuck, it's not fucking fair. See Yang, she told me not to tell you, b-b-but look, look at her smile."

Caolin reached around, holding a wrinkled pict in front of her. A youthful Caolin sat smiling right next to a weary Ros, a bundle of blankets in her arms, her husband at her side. The bundle had a face inside, with tiny wisps of red, red hair.

Yang felt like she was drowning.

_Let go_, a voice said. _Make them pay. _The voice was her own, and Dust did it sound sweet, it sounded like it never knew tears, never broke a promise. Kill.

_Yes._

"I loved her," Caolin said, a fact as simple as war in the Imperium.

_You know what you're good for, what_ _**feels**_ _good. Don't wallow, don't despair, don't do that, Weiss was right, you're of no use to anyone like that!_

Her head snapped up, eyes now bone-dry. Caolin's blubbering continued, but _fuck_ she just didn't care anymore. In fact, she wanted to push her thumbs into his eyes until they popped like grapes and blood filled her palms. Kill.

_Yes._

That's what she needed to do. Ros was gone, she knew it, knew it in her heart, knew it because it felt the same when Ruby left. Kill.

_Yes._

Escape, run away, give in. That was the best way to make it all disappear. Kill.

_Yes._

Blood dripped from her lips, spattering onto her blue-streaked flak armor. Fighting the xenos… so much _fun!_ _A challenge! _Yang giggled. Kill!

_Yes!_

They were gone, oh bad, so sad, all gone. But right in front of her stood a hive of cultists, a tower of rockcrete and piping, a challenge, a way to feel alive, a way to fill her lungs with air and her veins with the nectar of adrenaline KILL!

_**YES!**_

KILL!

_KILL!_

_**KILL!**_

* * *

**A/N: If you're wondering why Yang's kinda… losing it right now, there's a couple reasons. First and foremost being she's having the worst moment of her life thrown right back in her face. She's also been destabilized by the use of unsanctioned warpcraft. I tried to convey this stuff the best I could, but individual results may vary.**

**And yeah, the Titan couldn't really boot up in time to do anything, considering the Dark Eldar raid lasted like three-four minutes. Not really enough time for it to do much at all.**

**Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'd really like to know what you guys thought, so please, let me know. :)**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: Ha! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :D**

**Nemris: Thank you so much! I always love getting your ****reviews, and I'm thrilled to hear you're still enjoying the story so much. I can't wait to see what you have in store!**

**blaiseingfire: Goddamn right.**

**Gafgar: Unfortunately, it was sleeping anyway. I don't think the Deldar wanted to try anything when it was awake...**

**ATP: Apparently not... although they probably would have wrecked shit if they could...**

**snoogenz: Lo, readers, a prophet! :D**

**star gazer: Oh, awesome! I love hearing reviews like yours. Means I'm doing my job. :)**

**OBSERVER01: Still a bit before Weiss gets Myrtenaster back, but it should be interesting. **

**Kiyoushu: Now THAT would have been an interesting scene, huh? On a related note, Traitor!Sisters always rubbed me the wrong way. Not that they can't be manipulated into serving the Dark Gods (their zealotry might blind them), but I don't think they'd ever do it willingly.**

**PredatorPuck: This guy gets it.**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: The Black Crusade could _technically_ be considered the 'main' story going on here, but you'll see how things shape up in the coming months. No comments on the power fists (why would I spoil something like that?), but that's an interesting theory about Ruby.**

**LegionOfMisfits: Hey, glad to see you're back! Love hearing your responses, and I'm always flattered by your responses. **

**Redcollector: Too bad the Dark Eldar popped by...**

**tankbuster626: *Ma'am. I'm a ma'am, but I appreciate the sentiment regardless! :D I personally see Lie Ren being an Officio Assassinorum agent, but I could easily Ozpin or any of the 'inner circle' characters being Inquisitors... they're so damnably mysterious!**

**soupie13941: Couldn't find the link... mind just telling me what the song is? Glad to hear you're enjoying the fic so much! :D**

**Heitomos: Thanks! Weiss' new powers will be included/ignored in due time. I'm going to see how this season plays out before doing anything hasty.**

**Sigurd: I'm thrilled you're having so much fun! Hopefully this battle satisfied too. :) Sorry to hear you lost your bet though... XD**

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who's left a review. Buckle up though, because the next chapter... it's not exactly sunshine and rainbows. :(**


	41. The Brazen Berserker

**A/N: All passengers please fasten your seat belts, and leave all trays in the upright position. If at any time you feel nauseous, please use the provided bags in front of you. Thank you for flying RedrumSprinkles air, where the feels are real, and your predictions don't matter. :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 40: The Brazen Berserker**

_"Brilliant lights will cease to burn," - **[REDACTED]**_

Yang seethed with purpose, each breath that filled her lungs tasting clean and new. Whistling a tune from Remnant, she retrieved her weapons, her smile wide and shining brighter than the stars that hid behind the smog of Uriel. _Kill, kill, kill!_ Honestly, what was she trying to accomplish with a promise like that?

_Nothing!_ The voices said, all of them, a throaty harmony in her own timbre that bellowed their truths in her mind. _Do what you love, what makes you feel alive!_ She laughed again. Lying to herself for eight months had been so exhausting, so tiring _FUCKING BULLSHIT_

Is what it was.

"I love it here," she said. Remnant was the past, the prologue to the blood-stained fever dream wonderland of the Imperium.

Leaving the camp, a worm pulled at her torn and sweat-stained sleeve, tears in its pudgy, freckled face.

"Yang," Asgeg said, voice weak and tremulous, "we found the Sarge… he… he… Emperor." She stopped listening. The noises the worm made were soft and laughable. Her boots resumed their pace, dragging her forward to the place where fun happened.

"Yang," the worm said again, moving in front of her. She wanted to smash her fucking face in. Use its shiny arm to mash it into a thin red gruel. Her knuckles tightened and popped, begging, pleading, _oh please, please please _"Yang, Jorvis and Ros are… well… you're the last one left with any kind of rank, so this is yours now." In her hands, she held a beret, a single silver skull badge in its center.

"Ooh, cool hat," Yang said, fixing it atop her mess of golden hair. The worm stepped back, tripping over her feet. "I want the chainsword too. And your grenades."

"Y-Yang, I don't understand, I know-"

She laughed, spraying blood down her front. "What was that, Asgeg, 'Geggy ol' pal of mine?" Yang asked, _demanded_. "It's like you said: I'm in charge, so get me what I want right fucking now. And that's an order," she added, winking.

Mael handed her the chainsword, trembling under Yang's unflinching smile. The blade was spotless and sharp. She spat. _Died with a clean blade. What a shame._

"C'mon, get the lead out! Grenades, people," she said, hand extended towards the remnants of Gamma. "Cough 'em up." Exchanging glances, they obeyed, unable to meet her eyes as they surrendered their explosives. By the time the solemn procession finished, Yang had acquired almost twenty frags.

"Fucking finally!"

Spinning on her heel, she resumed her march on the munitorum, a jaunty whistle ringing loud and long above the wailing of the dead and dying.

"Yang," Caolin said before she sent an elbow into his stomach, throwing him backwards without breaking stride.

"Ta-ta~" She called, waving to the worms.

The factory swelled before her, a truly massive complex of twisting pipes and slate-grey rockcrete. Dust, she felt like skipping! _See how much better this is?_

Buh-bye Ros, so-

no stop get help you're not you

sad, so sorry-

find weiss, she can help

_all gone_. She broke into a jog, no longer content to walk. _Faster, faster, faster! _Her hair fluttered behind her as she picked up her pace, long legs dashing over the rubble and scrap, born to leap and bound.

Ember Celica unfolded, eager and-

stop please stop

ready to go.

As she neared, she heard the shouts of the cultists, the chorus of her arrival, heralds of their own sweet death. Spot lights drenched the sprawling wastes before her, almost blinding in their intensity.

A hail of bullets welcomed her, spattering the ground and filling her ears with the saccharine roar of gunfire. Spreading her arms, she welcomed the onslaught, laughing as the rounds refused to connect.

They zipped and hissed around her, but-

go back stop it

boy, they were just shitty shots!

Nothing could touch her. Stepping closer, the wall before her seemed to stretch to infinity, soaring up to meet the shrouded moons. With a swipe of her power sword, it cracked and splintered, revealing a tangled mess of baroque and rusted machinery.

Yang snarled. She just wanted to kill, _HOW FUCKING HARD IS THAT? _Her sword flashed and hacked, carving the Mechanicus' revered shit-heaps into shards of glowing scrap. Behind her trailed her new chainsword, its teeth biting and bouncing as she dragged it behind her.

Bursting through a wall, she emerged in a hallway, flakes of rockcrete pattering at her feet. Around her rushed a platoon's worth of heretics, recoiling from her sudden arrival. The sound of her billowing mirth echoed down the tunneling, labyrinthine halls, a bubbling sound that sent a shiver of fear through her new pals.

Thumbing the activation runes of her weapons, her hair burst into flames of black and red (like roses).

It felt so good.

The brown-clad forms rushed her, snarling and brandishing twisted, malformed weapons. Revving her chainsword, she relished the sound, the teeth rumbling, _hungering. KILL!_

Their deaths were so close she could _taste _them.

Twisting under the first attacker, she threw her shoulder into his chest, pulverizing it against the wall. Bones crunched under her pauldron, a screech of agony splitting the hall. As blood burst from his lips, she kicked off the wall, launching herself into a pack of weaklings.

Landing, she cleaved one in half with her swords, and when she hit the worn concrete floor, a nova of black flames stumbled the rest. They slapped at the dissipating flames, blinded and bleating like goats.

Purring her content, she buried her power sword into one, pinning him against the wall. While he grabbed and wrenched at the hilt with panicked arms, she stabbed her chainsword in another. It ground against his chest, spitting a line of gore across the ceiling. Sweeping his foot out from underneath him and releasing her swords, she filled her hands with grenades.

"Catch!" She cried, sending them clattering down the hall. The cultists screamed before they burst apart in deafening flashes, shrapnel ringing and ricocheting off the walls. The pulled pins fell at her feet with a metallic ringing, swallowed up by the gore that slicked her boots.

Only remnants were left, red half-worms that would wail if they had mouths. _Not enough! MORE! MORE!_

Ripping her swords free, she dashed past the carnage, each footfall painting the walls crimson. She'd entered some maintenance shaft, a twisting maze of pipes, corners, and dead ends.

Turning the corner, she ran into a fresh squad, weapons pressed against their shoulders. They skidded to a halt, heels skimming across the floor. The leader hollered something, raising his weapon to cut her down.

She sliced it in half with a flash of blue, spinning to rend him apart with her chainsword. A bullet slammed into her chest. Yang giggled, craning her neck to face the shooter. Fear ruled them all, their shoulders quivering, pit-stains running down their flanks.

She killed them all, mincing them apart as she pushed forward. At the end of the corridor stood a massive blast door, almost ten feet tall and sealed tight. Her lips parted into a toothy smile. Throwing her swords, they flashed and spun before embedding themselves in the steel. Bounding forward, her aura spilled into her legs, pumping, pumping, _pushing_. With an elated cry, she slammed Ember Celica into the center of the door.

It burst open with a metal screech, torn from its frame by the unrelenting force that was Yang Xiao Long. A massive factory floor sprawled out before her, brimming with brown-clad forms. They were scrambling and panicking, searching for their weapons. How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred? She laughed at them in their unpreparedness, their sheer fucking _stupidity_.

The lights, once an unsparing host of fluorescent bulbs, flickered off, replaced by a bank of pulsing red warning bulbs. They doused the floor in alternating sheets of total darkness and a brilliant, bloody crimson.

The bulkhead slammed against the floor, and she tore her swords free with a grin, one that reached her ears. Her next victims were close at hand, still backpedaling as the four tons of steel came crashing down. Purring teeth tore at the first one's flesh, carving him apart. Spinning, she slammed a foot into a cultist behind her, sternum shattering under her heel. His lifeless form broke against the wall a dozen yards away and crumpled to a heap on the floor.

Red.

Blood pumped against her temples, her lungs swelling as air laced with the intoxicating reek of fear filled them to the brim. Yang gave a wordless cry as the flat of her power sword hit a heretic's chest, pulverizing his ribcage and shooting blood from his extremities.

Black.

"Come on, who's next?!" So many worms! So many corpses to make!

Hollering with fear and rage, one launched himself forward, boots ringing against the cement floor. So fucking _slow! _The chainsword bit into his shoulder, spitting blood over the comrades that followed him, splashing across Yang's face, splattering against her bared teeth. Ripping it free, she leapt forward. _Yes!_

no no get a grip

The man screamed, trying to hold himself together as his friends tore him to shreds with lasbolts. The crimson lances did little more than annoy her as she plunged forward. Her feet flew across the cement floor, the rush of aura pushing them to their limits. It felt like sex. Leaping skywards, she dove into the nearest pack. _**YES!**_

Red.

Spinning and stumbling through the swarming fools, her arms were a blur as they swung and stabbed and hacked and did her bidding, the swell of death filling her chest with the warmth of adrenaline. One died, three fell apart, six torn asunder by the whirring song of her blades. Flash-boiled blood and gibbets of flesh rained down upon her and the cluster broke under her ferocity.

Black.

One hopeful man tried to swing a sword at her, but she cut it in half with a slash of blue. Twirling around, she beheaded him, rocketing his terrorized face far away. _YES!_

Oh dust it felt so good.

please no

_They're bad people anyway! They all deserve it!_

"YOU HEAR THAT?" She bellowed, voice echoing, resounding, swallowing them whole. "THIS IS ALLLLLLLL ON YOU!" A giant man rushed her with a stubgun, blaring shots from its fluted barrel. She ran to meet him, ducking under his firing arc before ramming the stilled chainsword under his guard. Speared into his flesh, she cranked the throttle, and he erupted in a geyser of offal. "This one actually had balls!" She said, bits of his stomach dripping off her pauldron. "Where's the traitor marines? Your daemons? C'mon!" She said, challenging the gathering horde, a tide of metal and mottled flesh that swelled on the factory floor, gnashing their teeth and keening at the avatar of death before him. "Challenge me! FIGHT ME!"

Red.

They rushed her. They never learned. That, or, like Yang, they just didn't _care_.

Laughing, she dove into their midst, blades purring with glee. She carved a space for herself among the press, splitting any who dared to come near her. Another stubber lit into her, its rounds bursting apart her punching bags and denying her the fun she needed.

Roaring, she bowled the shooter over, grinding both swords into him so she could watch him die.

no stop

Stumbling over to her next target, her power sword slammed into him, throwing his halves across the rooms.

Black.

She was drunk.

Drunk on her power, drunk on her invincibility, on her grief, on her guilt and shame, drunk on the blood that surged through her veins and locked all the pain away. She was drunk on the blood her boots sloshed through, on the Imperium and its callous disregard for life. It felt like fucking _heaven_.

_Let go, _she thought, _you saw what you did to that eldar cunt. Barbecued her. Reach out, do it again, FIND US_

_No! What would Ruby say?_

The thought sucked the breath from Yang's lungs, and she saw her sister's face when Mercury's leg went _snap_

why why why why why

"Gah!" She fell to her knees, trying to claw her way to the surface, find sanity in Ruby's memory. It was too late. Bullets and lasbolts hammered into her, each one fueling the red-black inferno that rippled through her hair, pushing Ruby's moon-white face deeper under the waves.

Her scream split the forge, its cry bringing the weaker-willed among the arch-foe to their knees. Easier to kill. But where's the fun in that? In fact… it was too easy as it was. Shrugging off the small-arms fire, she looked at the swords in her hands. Looked at Ember Celica languishing on her wrists. At her fingers, which longed to shred and feel flesh tear beneath them.

no no no no no

_Too late-_

no

Her swords deactivated, clattering as they splashed into the spreading pools of viscera. Yang advanced, cracking her knuckles on the last few remaining cultists. The rest were fleeing, yowling prayers to their god to save them.

He wouldn't though.

"For Khorne!" One cried, pointing his lasgun in her face and pulling the trigger. Red filled her vision, but the bolt barely moved her. She broke the pathetic weapon over her knee, jamming its shards into his gut before ripping them free.

Yang moved on. Her steps rang against the tangled mess of assembly lines and sweltering foundries, each one bringing forth a fresh scream from the survivors. They hammered at a bulkhead, clawing their fingers down to nubs as they tried to escape, run, _COWARDS_

Giggling to herself, she plucked the pin from a frag and rolled it into them. A burst of shrapnel sent limbs flying and torsos tumbling across the floor. Two left for now.

One rushed her, tears streaming from his scarred and tattooed face. _Wretch. Worm. Maggot! _His fists met her flak armor, each one slackening in their strength, before he could little more than clutch at her.

Pulling at his chin, Yang looked into his eyes and grinned. She snapped his neck. The crack of bone beneath her hands sent chills running up her spine. _Too good._

She advanced on the last one. Their leader, by the look of all the skulls hanging at his belt and the armor that saved him from her grenade.

"Hey there buddy!" She said. He wailed.

"Open up, I beg of you!" He cried, gauntlet hammering the wrought steel door. With a flash of sickly yellow hair and onyx flames, she cupped his face in her hands.

"Shh… shh… now, what do we say?"

"S-s-say?"

"What do you say to your pathetic masters, who you failed so miserably?"

"I-I-I-I-" Snarling, she smashed his nose onto the bulkhead.

"You say you're sorry!"

"I'm sorry!" He bawled, blood running into his lips before his gums overflowed and ichor leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"What do you say?"

"I'M SORRY!" He said, shattered green teeth falling from his lips and clacking against his twisted, pathetic armor.

"LOUDER, YOU FUCKING _WORM!_" Yang roared, throwing his head into the door once again. He slumped over, mumbling words his fractured brain couldn't fathom. Slipping her fingers through his greasy hair, she thrust his face into the steel again and again, feeling his skull splinter and crack.

"Knock knock!" She bellowed to whoever would listen. Again she slammed his face into the bulkhead.

Again.

There was little left above his spine, but it didn't stop Yang, oh no, no no.

With a cry of effort, she poured the crackle-hum power of her aura into her fists, smashing the door open and sending it crashing down the hallway it concealed. She threw the corpse aside, a broken toy in a playhouse of tissue-paper dolls.

Her feet flew up the stairs she found, desperate to never feel anything ever again. A squad of heretics was waiting for her.

find weiss

Ember Celica bellowed, its shells murderously effective in the cramped constraints of the scaffolding steps. The pellets shred them apart, tearing away their bodies and leaving them little more than slop. The survivors quailed and shook.

She broke them with her hands, her fists like jackhammers as they pummeled them into pulp, ribs cracking under their relentless assault.

please this isn't right

_Shut up! _She stumbled and tripped over the broken, blubbering bodies. Her shoulder felt like someone had set it alight, and her head felt like it was about to split in half. She screamed again.

_Get out of my head!_

_No!_

_You're not a part of me!_

_I __**am**_ _you, you stupid fucking slut!_

No, she wasn't done yet! Kill! **KILL!**

_Yes! Protect your pathetic, weak friends!_ _This is what you were born for! _Laughing, she shot up the stairs, bounding against the pressed metal steps. Nothing. The top opened up to a flat section of the roof, crawling with heretics and gun emplacements. Sandbags and searchlights studded the walls, almost a hundred more friends to play with.

A few squads shrieked and pointed at her, readjusting to meet their assailant. Their lasguns whirred and hummed, trained on the flickering incarnation of death. Behind them, flak cannons by the dozen roared, sending up brilliant tracers into the shrouded night.

With a gleeful giggle, she threw her arms behind her and launched herself forward with Ember Celica. She slammed into the first group, yellow lightning crackling off her fists. They spun to face her, but the beat was already in her head, the dance steps plotted. It was her favorite song, her favorite dance, the one of life and death.

A sword swung for her neck. With a jab, her knuckles broke the arm at its elbow, her foot swinging around to rip its owner's head from its shoulders. Picking up the body, she hurled it into its friends, bowling them over as the corpse gushed its life-blood.

She laughed as she bobbed around the clumsy attempts to stab and shoot her. Lashing out, her hand caressed the nape of an attacker's neck before hurling his face into the puddles below, his skull shattering off the rockcrete floor.

She spun, catching a bayonet thrust with the palm of her hand. Wrapping her fingers around the weapon, she ripped the wielder forward into her fist. She struck him once, twice, three times before he fell apart, the screams dying away as his lungs flooded with blood.

The next one dove at her, the fucking idiot. Catching him mid-flight, she grabbed his face and squeezed until it burst. Ha!

please oh dust please no

Dashing to the next squad, she scooped one off his feet, lifting him above the ebony ghost-flames that licked at her hair. With a joyous roar, she broke his spine, ripping him in two while he twisted and screeched. Gore and entrails slopped over her, warm rivers of flesh and offal staining her scalp, running down her face and soaking her to the bone.

_More! KILL MORE!_

She laughed as the others retreated, cowering before her inexorable advance. Ember Celica launched her forwards, meeting heretics' heads with a crunching satisfaction. Pellets tore them apart, shredding flesh from bone, paring limbs from torsos.

Dashing forwards, she caught a smaller man in his stomach, digging her fingers into the soft and putrid flesh. Filling her hand with intestines, she ripped them free, howling with glee at the cultist's pathetic mewling cry. He slumped over, trying to make sense of what happened to him.

"Weak!" Yang bellowed, smiling. "You're all so fucking _weak!_"

A war-cry pierced her ears as a heretic unleashed a stubber into her flank. The rounds slammed into her, throwing her from her feet and sending her rolling across the roof. Her semblance drank up the punishment, the pain tasting like bathtub amasec.

When she stopped, a cultist tried to jam his bayonet into her. Laughable. Pitiful, actually. Her fist rocketed upwards, catching his throat and seizing it between blood-slicked fingers. She squeezed as she stood, pulling his face down to meet her own, staring into the eyes that bugged out from his pockmarked face. With a soft hiss of breaking flesh, her thumb pierced his throat, spilling his dying scream and a torrent of blood down the front of his flak armor.

She dropped him, one more useless sack of meat.

"Blood! Blood for the Blood God!" One blared, throwing himself forward, wrapping his arm around her, grabbing a fistful of red-gold locks. He reeked. Smelled like a week-old battlefield, clouded in a copper blanket of sweat and fear. His free hand slammed into her flak armor, fingers wrapping around the pins of her grenades.

Laughing madly, he yanked them away, ready to embrace oblivion. Yang grinned, jamming her hand down his throat and pulling him up so she could meet his eyes. Fear ruled him until the frags went off, a crackling burst of explosives that rent him into a mist.

Yang flew backwards, flak armor smoking and hair whipping in the wind. Beaming, she landed, rolled, turned, and dove back into the fray, power and battle-lust and blood and drunkenness dripping from every pore.

stop please you're better than this you know better YOU CAN TURN AROUND

"NO!" She bellowed. Her foot lashed out, snapping a cultist's shin and sending shards of bone shooting out from the back of his calf. Screaming, he pitched forward, throwing himself into Ember Celica. The strike blew away his torso, and the rest of him scattered across the roof.

_How many? How many more? I could do this forever_, she thought, dancing under the rain of flesh.

Free of fear, fear of promises, of grief, of everything except the pumping rush of murder and the club-beat of adrenaline that thundered through her. Her aura felt like the chorus of a thousand songs, a thousand pulsing bass-kicks of drugs and sex and glory, won atop a pile of writhing corpses.

The flak guns died away as their crews panicked and scrambled for their weapons. They were so scared of her! Diving for cover and trembling like corpse-maggots, they prepared themselves for death.

She laughed once more, a sound that echoed off the sheer walls, swelling upwards to meet the unseeable summit of the colossal Forge. She took her time approaching, relishing their mounting despair as their weapons coughed their last. Batteries dead, mags empty.

Nothing could stop her.

Tearing one from cover, she smashed his head into the floor before ripping his arm free. Clambering over the sandbags, she jammed the broken arm into his friend's neck, splintered bone jutting out underneath the straps of his gas mask.

Ripping it free, she struck another, aura keeping the limb from liquefying under the unrelenting force. She killed them all, a grimm let loose in an elementary school. There were no more eldar, no space marines, no daemons, but it… it didn't matter anymore. Just bathing in red was enough.

Weiss could

help

go fuck herself. Why fix anything? This is what she'd wanted all along.

The last one fell before her, his knee-guards scraping against the oceans of blood that soaked his brown fatigues. His hands splashed forward too, and she could hear the choking sobs leaking out from behind his cheap plastic mask.

"Daemon," he shouted, blubbering. "Why have you turned against us? Why not slaughter the corpse-worshippers?" He crawled forward, boots slipping and sliding. "Why?" he asked, fingers pulling at the red of her fatigues. "Why? Why? Why?"

She ran her fingers up the cords of his neck, savoring the feel of his cracked and weeping skin. Her thumbs crawled up his cheeks, pulling at the rivers of salt that coursed over them.

"I'm not a daemon, hun," Yang said, digging her digits into his eyes up to the first knuckle. "I'm even better!" She yelled, loud enough so he could hear herself over the sound of his panicked suffering.

Mashing the pads of her thumbs against his skull-pan, she let him die.

Giggling, she looked out over her work. A hundred bodies laid sprawled out before her.

None of them moving.

None of them whole.

Every inch of her dripped blood, and her hair was a sodden golden rag, each strand billowing black-red flames. This is what it means to live for the gods!

there are no gods

The thought was hers, and it straightened her back, screwed up her red-soaked eyebrows in puzzlement.

there are no gods and your name is yang

_No!_

your name is yang and you have a sister named ruby

"GAH!" Yang cried, stumbling, spinning, aching. She wanted to kill! She didn't want to think about Ruby!

you're more than that she knew you were better

"I am!" She told her aura, the voice that told her she was WRONG WRONG WRONG. But how could she be? It felt so good!

Her breaths came labored and sharp, the dim coal of her soul burning against the gloomy, sanguine mist. Under her red-soaked pauldron, the pain of her glyphs surfaced, blindingly hot. So hot, they seared her skin, humming what sounded like pleading, hymnal beseechment.

Once more, she collapsed to her knees, hunched over and drowning in red.

Amongst the dead, Yang struggled for control, for anarchy.

* * *

Impossible. Inevitable.

These were the words that assailed Amat, the conflicting concepts that hounded him until they forced him to acknowledge their existence. The eldar attack had faded as soon as it arrived, melting away into the darkness like the piratical shadow-kin they were.

His Lady made short work of them. But Yang…

Yang had fallen.

That was the reality he faced. One that brought a soreness to his eyes, one he tried to blink away, to no avail.

He wished he could have been anyone else. The blessings bestowed upon him, the talents and opportunities afforded to him…it sounded heretical to fathom, but he wished it all the same.

He wished his mother had lived. He hadn't even remembered her existence until a scant few minutes ago. Her face seemed so close now, but whenever he tried to bring it forth, he only found the lectern gaze of Instructor Palla. His head pounded. Felt like someone was punching it, beating it into the half-collapsed watchtower he'd made a nest in.

Yang finished her dance with a ear-splitting smile, an avatar of the Emperor's wrath living within the grinning skin of the arch-foe. Her hair was no longer gold. It turned his stomach, made him want to fill his spy mask with vomit.

It was time to complete his mission.

"If Remnant is real," he said, whispering against the scope of his rifle, "I pray to the Emperor your death returns you there." The thought of her soul languishing within the Immaterium made his eyes ache.

He wished he was not Amat.

He wished he was not the epitome of the Vindicare. His lungs filled with air, air that tasted like amasec and the unfamiliar pang of laughter.

He wished he could blame the distance. Four kilometers, three hundred and eighty-six meters.

He wished he could blame the wind. North to south, four kilometers per hour.

He wished he could blame Yang's sudden collapse. On the nature of her mysterious aura. His exitus rifle shifted.

He wished his mission had been something else. His finger curled around the trigger, familiar yet cold and repulsive.

He wished he could have spoken with her more.

He squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Yang was still panting when her aura seized control of her instincts, but it was too late. Agony exploded through her, filling every pore and casting her depleted aura aside like a sheet of broken plastic. Skidding to a stop amongst a quagmire of broken heretics, she howled in agony.

Shaking fingers clutched and warbled at the gaping hole that had sprouted in her stomach, the one that poured her blood into the crimson cocktail she stewed in.

The pain helped her finally pierce the clouded crimson fog, allowing a gold to shimmer through. Her aura. Depleted and spent, but still burning. Still alive, and wholly hers.

She was free, surfaced from the red red haze that had swallowed her.

Gasping and spluttering, her eyes twitched and quivered, drowning in the horrors she'd performed. She screamed twice more. Once, for the round that tore through her, piercing the immutable wall of her soul and laying her down, broken and bare. The second scream was louder and far more terrible, the scream of a sane woman looking at her hands and thinking them too small to cause the slaughter she bathed in.

"Wh-wh-what?"

Blackness ate at her.

So cold.

_Is this… me? _She thought, trying to sit up. Pain lanced through her, and she looked at the hole that sat underneath her quivering palm. It was enormous. Wide enough to slip her fist inside. She wailed, legs pumping at the broken bags of flesh beneath her. _I'm a monster._

_I-_

_I'm dying._

The thought shattered the citadel of agony built around her mind. _I'm going to die again._ Her fists clenched and unclenched, far beyond her ability to rein in or control. Ember Celica stayed with her, binding her wrists in memories of Remnant. Of Ruby.

_I'm going to die a monster._

Yang found sudden peace in the thought. She would be free of responsibility, of guilt. Of the murderous temptations, of the horror she'd just wrought with her two small, shaking hands. If her stomach wasn't poking through her fingers, it would have spilled bile into her throat.

_I'm sorry, Ros. Ruby. Weiss._ _This is what I deserve._

_I couldn't hack it_, Yang decided, tears carving white rivers through the blood that painted her face. _Couldn't keep my promises… I'm sorry, Weiss. I succumbed. You were right. So, so right. If you find Ruby, please… don't tell her what I… what happened._

As her lifeblood left her, she thought of many things. She thought of Weiss, who'd become an Inquisitor to fix anything she could. She thought of Blake, her best friend. She thought of her anonymous killer. _My thanks, stranger. _

The bullet had brought her to her senses.

Finally, she thought of Ruby. Her sweet, strong sister. _I wish I could have seen you again… _Her thoughts became more and more distant, fading, fading away. The last time she approached this barrier she'd been brought to this galaxy, and now she was poised to cross the veil once more.

Who knows what new adventure awaited her this time around? As the black miasma of smog cleared from the skies of Uriel, the stars twinkled, countless and pure.

Yang Xiao Long smiled as the nothingness took her.

* * *

**A/N: This wasn't a fun chapter to write. Okay that's a lie, it was a blast, but it still made me a little sick. Ingesting Khorneflakes tends to do that. Anyway, I know a few of you will be a little upset that Yang was eventually able to push the corruption out of her, but eh, I figured it was something that could happen. Auras are monstrously powerful things, Yang's even more so. If you want to listen to music during Yang's blood-craze, I suggest either 'Professional Griefers' by Deadmau5 or 'Hydrogen' by M.O.O.N.**

**So if you could leave your thoughts in the form of a review and have some happy holidays, that would be great!**

**Oh, and don't worry, the story isn't over yet. Promise.**

**Review Replies:**

**LordGhostStriker: I guess it really wasn't was it? Fits her pretty well, I'd say.**

**The Walrus of Eden: I have to say, got a kick out of your reaction. Happy that OCs can elicit that kind of reaction. Hopefully the cultist-hunt satisfied! **

**antisnipe: That's actually a very good point. I guess everything remains to be seen.**

**Xyston: Oh damn, that's pretty fitting. Yeah... sorry about that. :/**

**SanguinePanguine: Thanks dude! I always love seeing new faces around here. :D**

**snoogenz: It'll be a... long conversation. :(**

**Galm: Hopefully it satisfied! Thanks for your reviews!**

**OBSERVER01: At least she was able to retain control of herself. And while I like the Dark Eldar aesthetically, I don't really like their MO as a faction. Disgusting little sweat-goblins.**

**tankbuster626: Thanks, man! *tips fedora* :D**

**Sasswot2000: That's an interesting theory you have there.**

**Nemris: An accurate diagnosis. Also, EVERYONE, COME CHECK OUT THIS GUY'S STUFF. He made me an awesome piece of fanart, and has a kickass RWBYHammer40k story himself. Seriously man, thanks again!**

**Victor L: Subtlety really isn't Yang's thing either. Very accurate interpretation as well. **

**blaiseingfire: Dark Eldar frequently terrorize human populations (be they soldiers, civilians, or otherwise) to collect slaves and resources. It was ostensibly a mission to kidnap Weiss, but the wyches took it as an opportunity to nab as many fresh slaves as they could.**

**redcollecter: Or the cultists...**

**Fencer22: You're not entirely wrong at all. Also, I'm glad you're sticking with the fic despite not knowing too much of the setting. Really flattering! **

**Enuncia: Wow, thanks so much! I'm totally blushing! :D**

**Kiyoushu: I like the second one.**

**Guest: Thanks so much for hopping on board! Happy you're enjoying the OCs! **

**Yoshtar: Ahehehehe... sorry?**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Hey, thanks a lot! I put a lot of time into it, so I'm glad to see it pays off.**

**ATP: She can sense danger. Not sure about an omake... are you offering to make one, or asking me to do one? Unfortunately, I'm so busy, the latter is very much impossible. Sorry! Also, thanks for the note, but I'm not sure what you meant...**

**Gafgar: That's one way of putting it. Fuck having a soul though, am I right?**

**HD-spartan: Well, I hope this chapter satisfied. Good point about the candle though. I like it. :)**

**Guest: A _LOT_ of blood.**

**OnyxIdol: A very good point. Poor Ros. :(**

**OnyxTheSaiyan: Thanks for joining me! Hopefully you enjoyed psycho-Yang!**

**praetorianprefect: I can't promise anything, other than that this fic is centered around RWBY characters and OCs.**

**soupie13941: Very fitting song. Also, turns out it was a combination of herself and Amat. Small victory, I suppose.**

**Quelthias: I'm always surprised when people who haven't seen RWBY hop on board this fic. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it just strikes me as weird! So glad to have you on board! **

**theblacklightprojekt: For the Emperor to what?**

**IronWolfe: Hey man, thanks so much for tuning in! Really pleased to hear that you like the OCs. I put a lot of work into them, and I know they can be massive turn-offs, so it's always nice to hear when people like them. Thanks so much for reading!**

* * *

**Seriously guys, thank you so much for a wonderful year! I love you all! :D**


	42. A Vision Enchanted

**A/N: Deep breath, everyone. Here we go.**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 41: A Vision Enchanted**

"_Chaos claims the unwary or the incomplete. A true man may flinch away its embrace, if he is stalwart, and he girds his soul with the armor of contempt." - Gideon Ravenor, The Spheres of Longing_

Amat stood, exitus rifle billowing steam. His eyes hurt. Stung like hell, really. Keying his microbead, he summoned his Lady's attention.

"Amat," she snapped, "I was just about to contact you. Where is Yang? I've lost track of her," she said, frustration ringing clear from within her skull-mask. He took a deep breath, leaning against the dilapidated home he'd made for himself.

"I am calling you to confirm mission completion, within stated parameters. The target succumbed, and…" his words failed him, something he found curious. His throat seemed desperate to choke him. He tried again. "And was eliminated."

The microbead went dead. It felt cold against his ear, a piece of frigid iron squirming its way into his brain. A gasp of pain, stuttered and wet.

"C-confirmed," she said, her voice tremulous and weak. It didn't make sense. Those were the noises heretics made when she cornered them, broke them down to less than nothing. "She didn't… suffer, did she?" His Lady asked. Amat found himself telling his first lie.

"She died instantly." She'd twitched and screamed, that much had been clear. Each quiver of her lips felt like a condemnation of his soul, a sin against the Emperor himself. He felt… ill.

Wrong. Vile.

Like he'd committed some great heresy.

Descending from his perch, his feet rang against the refuse of Uriel's surface.

"Amat…" his Lady said, her voice hesitant and full of broken glass. "Thank you. Please, retrieve her… her corpse."

Slinging his rifle across his shoulder, he went to his task. "Understood, my Lady."

_The ends justifies the deeds. _

_Always._

The taste of iron filled his mouth as his feet crunched against corrugated metal. He buckled his shoulder-cape across his chest, the cameleoline hissing as it slipped over his stealth suit. Never had completing a mission felt so disconcerting. Amat didn't know what caused Yang to descend into her blood rage, but it must have been grievous to upset her sunny disposition.

Although... something else lurked beneath her. When she'd afforded him a glimpse of Remnant, her facade had cracked. _There was a gulf in her_, he realized, _a hole where love for her sister used to live._

He wished he could have offered her more than a simple platitude. But when he'd tried, a grey mist had descended, fumbling his tongue while Yang sat there and shook.

It didn't matter now, though. He was too late.

Sighing, he leapt over a cracked and rusted pipeline. The matter of his Lady concerned him as well. If Yang's death destabilized her any further, he worried that the golden-haired beauty would not be his only victim. He shuddered. _Emperor, let it never come to that_.

Killing Yang had been difficult, and to imagine rendering the same judgement upon his Lady… he shook his head. Amat would do his duty. Nothing more, nothing less. Once more, he felt his head split, temples pulsing with agony.

Grunting, he soldiered on towards the Forge, trying not to think of Yang or his Lady. Ever since Shao-la, he'd felt unease hounding at him,and his dreams were often plagued with a familiar-looking Red Woman, whispering benedictions in an angelic, sing-song voice.

_Emperor protect me from it all._

After trudging through Uriel's metallic muck, he came upon the Woadian encampment. Chimeras by the hundreds sat in neat rows, around which thousands of soldiers grieved. Pillars of smoke trailed towards the polluted sky, piles of bodies offering up their ashes to the Forge that towered above them.

Nearing, he saw his Lady behind a Leman Russ. She was alone, her skull-mask buried in her gauntleted hands. Her halo shook and heaved, in time with her swelling cuirass. Amat wanted to reach out to her, but could not.

A woman stretched a tattered crimson cloak over the Inquisitor's pauldrons, her face split with a gentle smile. His pistol shot out of its holster, leveled at the intruder.

But she was gone, and the cloak melted off his Lady's shoulders, brilliant scraps of red silk floating away on the rancid breeze. Amat blinked, and the garment disappeared entirely. The only thing left was an Inquisitor, alone with her grief.

Whispering a prayer into his spy-mask, he pressed on. There was nothing he could do.

The Woadians grieved as well, stacking more of their kindred on the body-pyres. Hysterical shrieks of pain echoed through the camp as medics attended to the wounded. The xenos themselves received more curious treatment, however. Slipping through the Imperial lines, he watched the guardsmen stack them into neat piles, delicately stripping them of their weapons and armor.

Ira stomped through the quagmire, his swords hanging at his hip. The ex-skitarii seemed perturbed, his head on a swivel as he scanned the camp. Jogging over to him, Amat hissed his name. The acolyte jumped, pink plasteel arms clasping his swords.

"Amat?" He asked, his voice low and whispered.

"Behind you, my Lord. What's the matter? You're making the Woadians nervous," Amat said. Ira turned to face him. "Please my Lord, don't look at me. I must remain hidden," Amat said. He'd already failed his Lady on that account. _Wouldn't do to make it worse_. "It would raise suspicion if you addressed a shadow."

"Right," he replied, the bloody hood shifting to conceal his face. "I cannot find the Inquisitor." Unbidden, Amat's gaze shifted to where his Lady had hidden herself. "She gave the regiment strange orders, then disappeared an hour ago. She's not replying to my hails, and I worry for her well-being."

"Don't worry," Amat said, "she is unhurt. She will…" He struggled to find the words, something that was too common these days. "She will find you in time. I must be off."

"Understood," Ira said, shoulders unwinding at the assassin's words. He wasn't certain if they were correct, but they felt right.

Pressing onwards, Amat slipped past the Imperial forces. The foundry that towered over the encampment was silent and foreboding.

Foul. Unclean.

Unslinging his rifle once more, he slowed his advance, crouching low as he picked his way through the refuse and pollution. No spotlights flickered to life, no shouts accosted him. Wrapped in his wargear and the silence of night, he was invisible.

Against the soaring wall of the foundry, there was a single hole, torn rebar and broken rockcrete caving inwards. _Her point of entry. _Stepping through the wound in the wall, he followed the jittering black line that scraped itself across the floor.

When he emerged, he found nothing outside his expectations. Bodies by the dozen lined the halls, stewing in their curdling blood. There was no difficulty in following Yang's trail after that. Fleeting red boot prints trailed away from the carnage, pockmarked with more shredded corpses. The end of the hallway was missing its door, the broken hinges spitting blue sparks into the larger interior.

If it weren't for the clinical tang of his rebreather, Amat was sure he would choke on the smell. Among the hundred bodies he found her power sword, inert and buried in a heretic's innards. Next to it lay a chainsword, its bladed teeth painted red.

Tucking the more valuable sword into his belt, he continued to follow the bloody footprints, past a pack of mulched cultists, past a headless corpse. Bracing his rifle against his shoulder, he crawled up the stairs, where more bodies awaited him. He'd lost count by now.

When he emerged once more into the night of Uriel, he took a deep breath to steel himself. End the throbbing pain that hammered behind his forehead. The corpses here were mutilated beyond recognition, torn apart by bare hands and shotgun pellets.

And then he saw her.

In the middle of the butcher's floor lay Yang Xiao Long, her eyes shut in repose and hands clasped over the wound that felled her. The sight burnt his vision. Made it feel like someone was pushing needles into his eye sockets. Walking over to Yang, he stooped low to inspect her corpse.

The sight… disturbed him. He wished he could feel hatred and disgust, but he only found pity and regret. Yang was the first person he could call his… _Damnation, what was the word? Ah yes. _

_Friend._

When he looked at her again, he found that an eye had opened, a deep and velvety purple.

* * *

Death would wait a little longer, it seemed. Pain coursed through Yang, deadened by the bloodless stupor that blurred her vision. Beyond the haze stood Amat, his head framed by stars, his over-sized rifle braced against his shoulder. Pointed at her.

"We've got to…" she groaned in pain, fingers seizing at the hole in her stomach. "We've got to stop meeting like this, assassin-man."

"Emperor," he whispered, his rifle unflinching.

Yang closed her eyes, drawing a rattling breath through a parched throat. "Thank you," she said, swallowing. "I'm not… I'm not wrong am I? You shot me, didn't you?"

Amat nodded.

"Ah," she said. "Thought so." _Fuck. Everything hurts so much. _"Thank you," she repeated. "You woke me up. I don't know what came over me. I never want to feel… feel like that again." Her eyes stung. "Ever. Please, Amat, get me to Weiss. I want to say I'm sorry."

Crouching, he brushed a lock of gore-slicked gold out her eyes. "I… I'll see what I can do." Smiling, a weak hand left her side, climbing up to push aside the barrel of his rifle.

"Don't worry. I'm... okay. I'm okay now."

"You have a hole in you," Amat said, his voice almost inaudible behind his mask. Yang tried to laugh, but it sent pain coursing through her. Her face screwed up, and she mewled in agony.

"C'mon man… d-don't make me laugh. Not now," she said.

Amat nodded, reaching into one of the many pockets that hung from the belt at his hips. Pulling out a slim green injector, he stuck it into her neck. With a hiss, it sent a numbing sensation crawling through her veins, recalling a few droplets of water from the ocean of pain that swelled within her.

"Thank you," she said. He reached for her stomach, pulling at the hand that clasped the wound. Removing it sent a wave of needles through her, their points dull and rusted.

"How are you alive?" Amat asked, doing what he could to stem the fresh rush of blood from the hole in her flank. Yang's vision faded in and out, her thoughts muddled, unclear. She blinked, biting her lip to ease the agony of his prodding.

"Aura hasn't been right," she guessed. As if on cue, a yellow arc of lightning shot from her wound, dancing up Amat's forearm. Bright and luminous, its lazy path lit the foundry's roof like a candle, its light soft and warm. He gaped at it. "It's s-supposed to just help with minor stuff. Cuts and bruises. Nothing like this." The river of cold flame on his arm dissipated, a warming, welcoming ghost-touch. "Still dying down here," Yang said, the corner of her lips twitching.

"...Right."

"Did you call Weiss?"

"Yes."

She nodded, head lolling to the side. "Thanks. I don't know how I'm still breathing. How much blood have I lost?" Blinking, she tried to sit up. A firm hand eased her back down.

"Easy there," Amat said. "I don't know what aura is or what it can do… but Yang…" His visor shifted, meeting her half-lidded gaze. "If we can get you to a real medicae, there's a chance you could make it."

A wave of relief coursed through her, the tension that had curled her fingers into fists relaxing, letting go. _I'm not done. _In a way, it was comforting. She grinned. Even though pain hammered against her mind, begging her to scream and wail, she grinned. Yang laughed too, a small choking sound. _I might get to see Ruby after all. I don't deserve to, but I just might. I was too quick to accept death again._

But now… things were different. She'd seen the abyss, and there were no stars there.

Her hand reached skywards, falling on the side of Amat's mask. Bloodied fingers trailed two lazy marks across his hidden face.

"Nice shot, dummy. You were supposed to kill me."

Amat huffed, pressing her hand to the side of his face.

"Don't know how I missed, but yeah… I was. My Lady's orders."

"Makes sense," Yang admitted, eyes closing. "I'm gonna clobber her for it, but I can see why." Cold and weak, she shuddered. "I see it now. If I do this shit again, you have my express permission to blow my pretty brains all over the floor." Her fingers worked against his mask, feeling the ivory edges that framed the red of his eyes. "None of this mortally wounding bullshit, okay?"

She pulled him closer. Reading her intentions, he sighed. Amat removed her hand, replacing it with his own. With a gasp of compressed air, he removed his mask, baring his face to the elements.

He was young, not much older than herself. A thin, unkempt beard sat below a head of short-cropped hair, both a coarse and sandy blond. Three metal studs sat above the corner of his right eyebrow, the pallid skin around them dry and cracked. The eyes themselves were a vibrant, burnt-orange hazel, blinking and wet. Though sunken with fatigue, they were like two shards of glass - just as clear and bright, but bearing the same jagged edge.

"Ha," Yang said, blood seeping from between her lips and staining her teeth. "I gotcha. It was all an elaborate scheme to take your mask off." She saw his smile for the first time, gleaming white teeth behind quivering lips.

Unconsciously, he wiped at his eyes, salt washing away the red on his hands.

"You got me," he said, sniffing again. "This feels weird," he added, his fingers combing through his hair.

"Yeah, you could use some sun," Yang said, patting his cheek with a smile. It died though, swallowed up by a rush of pain. "Ah, fuck. This is horrible."

"C'mon Yang, stay with me," Amat said, rooting around in his belt once more. "I have a lot of questions, you know. Can't answer 'em if you give up and die."

She breathed a wheezing breath, setting her face into a pained snarl. "I won't," she said, hissing in agony. "Promise."

"I'm holding you to that, you know," he replied, wrapping his hands in sterile bandages and applying pressure to the bleeding areas. Yang bit down the howl that boiled in her throat. She wouldn't lie to him. Couldn't. Grinding her teeth, she summoned what remained of her aura, focusing it on constraining the weeping wound.

"Prick," she said, trying to smile. "If you were gonna try and save me, you could have shot me with something less painful."

Even without his mask, his face was still and silent. "I didn't know I was going to try and save you," he said after a moment's contemplation. "You are unique, Yang Xiao Long."

"One of a k-kind," she said, blinking away tears. _Breathe. In and out. Pain is temporary._

_This place will __**not**_ _be my legacy. _The thought brought a real smile to her face.

"YANG!" The cry echoed across the roof, Weiss' piercing voice accompanying her thunderous, armor-enhanced footfalls.

"Oh, hey Weiss."

Blackness consumed her once more, her last sight the reddened tear-stained face of her former teammate, side-by-side with Amat. She reached up for them as the darkness ate at the edges of her vision.

Her friends. Neither of them wore their masks.

* * *

"She's okay, my Lady," Amat said, his fingers pressed against Yang's neck. His mask hung at his side, discarded, forgotten. "For now."

"Your mask," the Lady Inquisitor said. He didn't respond, still watching the shuddering, unconscious form of her friend. Sighing, she turned to the stairwell, gesturing her company forward. Sister Mwatabu of the Order Vespila emerged into the night, the white of her immaculate bob-cut shining like a beacon.

Attached to the Palatine's command squad, she was the most capable medic in her warband. Even Darron's surgical skills were paltry and pathetic compared to hers. Furthermore, her kasrkin Captain couldn't know of Amat. Not yet.

"My Lady, your orders?" She asked, her medical headdress tilting.

"Keep my Representative alive. Her survival is imperative." Nodding, the Sister Hospitaller stomped forward, power armor hissing and whirring. Gently removing Amat from Yang's side, she bent to her task.

The assassin obeyed, recovering his rifle and pulling its strap across his chest. Appraising him, the Lady Inquisitor pulled him off to the side, gesturing him closer with ice-blue eyes and a wave of her fingers. A bloody handprint had been smeared across his face.

"You did well, Amat." _The damage is already done. Yang's trod over my years of work, but the least I can do is salvage what's left._ When she probed his mind, it was an entirely new landscape. She smiled.

"I did? I failed my mission."

"Not quite," the Lady Inquisitor said, glancing over at Sister Mwatabu. She'd underestimated Yang's attachment to her footslogger friend. _A mistake that will never occur again._ The touch of the warp still stained her, but it was ebbing away, dying under an assault of crimson laughter and a sunny smile. Though she'd succumbed to the Empyrean's whispers, letting them fuel her rage and latent bloodlust, she remained Yang Xiao Long in mind, body, and soul. She sent a prayer to the Emperor in thanks, before waving him over to the edge of the roof, out of Mwatabu's earshot.

"My Representative is an uncommonly strong individual," she said, watching for Amat's reaction. She might have even briefly held the lofty title of 'The Maiden of Summer'. _Depending on Ruby's last thoughts…_ the Inquisitor shuddered. That was a place better left unvisited.

"In fact," she continued, "I would wager that she is unlike any other human in the Imperium." He could only look at Sister Mwatabu. The Inquisitor's hand fell upon his shoulder, fingers resting against the taut muscles that sat underneath his stealth suit. "She told you quite a lot, didn't she?" She asked.

Amat nodded.

"Would you like to know the truth?" The Lady Inquisitor said. Outside of his widening eyes, years of hypno-indoctrination kept his face clear of emotion. "I can illuminate matters a bit further. But if you accept my offer, there is no turning back. Do you understand?"

Amat considered that, eyes parsing the bleeding form of Yang Xiao Long.

"May I pray first?" He asked. She nodded her assent.

While his hands folded and lips quivered, she took the time to assess the Forge. Her gaze turned upwards, where the dark eldar fliers had made their escape. No doubt, their twisted host-craft had already departed for Commorragh, slipping away amidst the chaos of open orbital warfare. Someone had hired a kabal to abduct her. _It is almost… flattering._ She allowed herself a brief, hollow grin. The resources poured into the raid had been wasted. In return, she'd obtained a pile of precious corpses and a handful of live specimens for Prexius, as well as a cache of forbidden xenotech for Tyrham. More bargaining chips placed firmly in her corner. Also, whoever commissioned them had vastly overplayed their hand, underestimating her to a laughable degree. _Never trust xenos to do an assassin's work. _She'd find out who hired the xenos eventually, and why. But that was a task for later.

Her smile faded as she watched Sister Mwatabu work. Though the kidnapping attempt was amusingly pitiful, it had almost cost her Yang. Her friend. A reminder of Remnant, and of Her. When Amat had told her of his mission, her response had been… surprising.

That Yang had not fallen to the temptations that sat on the edge of her soul was a blessing beyond any she'd seen in a long time. Briefly, she joined Amat in prayer, once more thanking the Emperor for His watchful protection over her endeavours, and His hand in saving Yang.

Watching Amat finish his mumbling, she sighed.

"My Lady?" He asked, hands still clasped. "I have an answer."

"And?"

"I need to know. Something in my soul demands it."

Smiling, she knew she had selected the right assassin on Holy Terra. Though the Inquisitor could never have predicted Yang would throw her plans awry, let it never be said she could not be… flexible.

There was potential here. A new approach. The Lady Inquisitor did not take risks, but Weiss Schnee could gamble, if pressed. Locking eyes with her assassin, the Lady Inquisitor plunged into his mind, pouring a torrent of information into him, all tailored to her taste.

Years of history and culture, the crimson leaves of Forever Fall, The Emerald Forest, the storied halls of Beacon Academy. A huntress who was Red like Roses. Grimm, the faunus, the White Fang.

A war. The deaths.

A funeral.

Amat pulled back, reeling and grimacing as his fingers dug into his scalp. He grunted and squirmed in pain, hands and chest shaking.

"Emperor," he whispered, stumbling back. "Golden Throne of Terra." He looked at her, eyes open and fearful. "Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"I am an Inquisitor," she replied.

* * *

**A/N: Happy new year's everyone! You didn't think I was gonna let you guys sit on that cliffhanger for too long, did ya? :D And y****eah, I wish I had the stones to kill Yang off. Unfortunately, it was impossible - this is her story, and it can't progress without her... for now. I know this probably wasn't what you guys were expecting, but I hope it satisfied anyway.**

**To answer a common question I've been asked:**** The only person to see Yang fall was Amat - the foundry was too tall for anyone below to see Yang ripping the heretics apart. ****And yeah, the un-reveal that Amat is simply an OC, not a more muscle-ly, mind-wiped Jaune walking around with an exitus rifle.**

**With that said, drop a review to let me know what you thought!**

**Review Replies: Oh boy. This is my most reviewed chapter of anything I've ever done... loved reading each and every one! :D Oh, and side note - if you haven't reviewed the latest chapter, I assume you're not caught up, and don't reply!**

**Inquisitor Azreal: It's been coming for a long time, believe me. **

**Darkerpaths: Hopefully the Inquisitor illuminated more of the circumstances behind Yang falling. And were you talking about my OCs? If that's the case, that's totally fair, but you're like... the first person to say anything. XD**

**theblacklightprojekt: She was a lot more hurt by it then she thought she'd be. No idea about the Ultramarines though!**

**redcollecter: Well, you got your wish... for now.**

**The Walrus of Eden: She wasn't actually dead, she just passed out. I phrased it differently to fake you out though, because your tears are delicious. **

**cdonovan: Oh wow, thanks so much! I try really hard to make sure this is the best story it can be!**

**Guest: Hahaha I certainly wish! I would love to write for them!**

**Nemris: Glad you liked it so much! Writing Amat's section in the previous chapter was really difficult, but it appears to have worked out. Hope you enjoyed the latest!**

**Fencer22: Does this give you a little better idea?**

**Knives91: You put it very poetically! :D**

**tankbuster626: It was the only time. :(**

**Kidkaboom1: Hey, thanks man! Always love seeing new faces like yours around! **

**snoogenz: No one really felt the 'power spike'... it was just Yang letting go of everything she had bottled up. Thank the Emperor she managed to keep it contained! **

**Zoe Walker: The chapter quote remains ever-true.**

**Bassmallet: I guess we'll see, in time.**

**A Flying Tomato: I really enjoy reading reviews like yours - primal, visceral reactions keep my typing fingers going! **

**Victor L: Damn, what a review! And you pretty much hit the nail on the head regarding Weiss and Yang. Your comment about 'goldfish in a ****universe of sharks' rings especially true, and it's something that may or may not show up later. Thanks for your incredible support!**

**SanguinePenguine: She hasn't, not just yet.**

**blaiseingfire: Well, she escaped that tortuous fate... for now, at least.**

**Galm: The former!**

**LegionOfMisfits: Hahaha funny that he was similar! But as for Ros - she's gone. Her fate lies with Comorragh**

**Gafgar: Not quite! Hope this chapter still satisfied. Also, that would be fucking metal as fuck, dude.**

**Kiyoushu: You were partially right! XD No promises about an omake though... I'm hella busy haha**

**OBSERVER01: No rising up for Yang. Giant holes in your stomach tend to put a halt on most ascensions. **

**goldfencer: Now that's an interesting theory...**

**Heitomos: As for Red Like Roses Pt. 2 in regards to this story, I always heard it as Yang singing to Ruby (in that order). But yes, I Burn is always fitting! If you want a good song about Yang and Weiss' current relationship, Mumford and Son's "The Cave" is actually surprisingly fitting. Like... damn. **

**soupie13941: Glad you're liking Amat! Having him wuss out of his duty felt very, very wrong. **

**mranonymous****: There's a few whispers going around that the galaxy is changing. Thanks for tuning in!**

**Quelthias: Did the chapter suck, or did it just suck seeing Yang go crazy? haha**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: I guess time will tell, won't it? Oh, and the planet is named Uriel. :)**

**OnyxIdol: You raise a good point. **

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Jacket? I know not what this is. **

**RampantPoultry: Thanks so much! It was tough to balance, but I think I found the right amount. So thrilled to hear you're enjoying the story!**

**Kaeni: So glad you're enjoying my OCs! And yes, Yang's fate is certainly curious.**

**LuckyFractal: Hahaha you're making me blush! So glad you're enjoying the characterization in the story, both of the OCs and Weiss and Yang. Weiss has been a challenge, but she's an utter blast to write. And your prediction was actually pretty close! As for Varan the Undefeateable, I had no idea he even existed when I conceived of Josephus... my fault for not reading the Cain series... Seriously though, reviews like this are always great to receive, and it always makes my day. So thanks, dude! I shall continue, to the best of my ability!**

**Allard-Liao: Well... I guess we'll see what happens. :)**

* * *

**Well good god-damn. That's a _lot_ of reviews! Thank you so much for all your support!**


	43. Workshop Assault

**A/N: Enjoy the extra-length chapter! :D**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 42: Workshop Assault**

"_One step away from the Astartes," - Lord Castellan Ursarkar Creed, regarding the kasrkin._

As Amat sat and watched Imperial forces stir, the Lady Inquisitor hovered over Sister Mwatabu, grimacing under her skull-mask. Yang still lived, but recovery was not assured.

"My Lady?" The sister said, glancing over her shoulder to face the Inquisitor.

"Yes, Sister?" She asked, trying to contain the note of worry that crept into her voice.

"Trooper Yang is stabilized, but she will not last forever. By the grace of the Emperor, she still draws breath. She should be dead," she added, bloodied hands clenching. "Her stomach has been obliterated. Her intestines have been shredded. A kidney and her liver have suffered severe damage."

The Lady Inquisitor listened in silence, teeth gnawing at her lip. "What is your recommendation, Sister?"

Sister Mwatabu brought up a holographic display on the back of her wrist (what she assumed to be a built-in diagnosticator), tapping a few buttons embedded in her power armor and washing her face in blue light. "A well-stocked medbay will be enough to keep her alive. I know the _Steed of the Saint_ is adequately equipped, and the _Scythe of Morning_ should be as well." Her eyes flicked to Yang's unconscious form, confusion ruling her eyes and contempt twisting her lips. "Beyond that, she will need extensive reconstructive surgery."

"How long until she dies?" The Inquisitor asked.

"The Emperor's hand has touched her wounds, sealing away the worst of the bleeding. She will live for at least another…" she tapped a few buttons on her wrist. "Three hours at least. However, major brain damage could occur if she does not receive required care within the next hour."

"Very well, Sister. You've done your duty with skill and haste."

The Hospitaller bowed, hands clasped together at the front of her waist. "I live to serve, my Lady."

Turning to look at the Forge, the path forward was muddy. There was a choice to make. The skies were still choked with dogfights, and meteors of broken starships still lit up the night - the battle in Uriel's orbit was far from won. Bringing Yang to one of her ships was a tenuous proposition. Scattered reports from General Campbell indicated the outcome would be favorable, but even the most optimistic projections predicted total air and orbital dominance would take another day to win.

Yang's only hope lay in Tyrham's Workshop… and with Magos Prexius. The Inquisitor had seen her laboratories, seen the undertakings she'd conducted. Though she was a flagrant experimenter and her expertise lay... _elsewhere_, Prexius' skills would be more than enough to keep her friend Lady Inquisitor frowned. Even that would be dangerous, as the Forge was still enemy territory. _At least I can offer her some form of personal protection. I pray to the Emperor a Thunderhawk will be safe enough._

Activating her comms with a thought, she hailed Tyrham.

"Ah," the Magos said, his voice appearing as wavering red line on her HUD. "Lady Inquisitor. How may I assist you?"  
"I have a wounded member of my retinue that needs Prexius' skills. How goes the defense?"

The red line sat still for a moment. "Hard-pressed. Skitarii are holding, but the enemy has grown desperate." A muffled klaxon blared into existence, punctuating his point. "Suicide bombers. Massed charges."  
"Understood, Magos. I will arrive shortly to help relieve you."

"Truly? Fighting is still distant. Readings assure me my Forge has not been reached by Imperial forces."

"General Campbell's forces will not be accompanying me," the Lady Inquisitor said. "Hold firm, and have faith. Make sure Prexius prepares her instruments."

"...Of course, my Lady. Omnissiah protect you."

Switching channels, she summoned Palatine Naja.

"Your will, my Lady?"

"I require a Thunderhawk, and a volunteer task force of your best Sisters," the Inquisitor said, looking back over the refuse of Uriel. "I have a mission for them."

* * *

This hiss and whine of hellguns filled the Thunderhawks' loading bay as her kasrkin readied themselves. Next to them stood the Sisters of Battle, their voices joined in prayer. Yang lay in the hold as well, a mask over her chapped lips, her flak armor and tunic replaced with a host of reddening bandages. Sister Mwatabu stood over her, monitoring her vitals.

Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi stood with her Retributor squad, the pilot lights of their heavy flamers sparking to life. Sister Eleven was present as well, double-racking her heavy bolter. The bay jarred and shook, shuddering as rounds impacted off its hull. The Sister-Pilot at the Thunderhawks helm was skilled, flying just over the rusted earth. Though it drew the ire of the heretics on the Forge's lower levels, she was able to avoid enemy fighter patrols.

The Lady Inquisitor left Ira in charge of matters outside the Forge. She had faith in him to perform his duty, though she wished she could have overseen matters herself. _It is of no concern. This is more important._

"Currently, Magos Tyrham's workshop is under assault by the arch-foe," the Lady Inquisitor said. "His survival is critical to the success of my investigation. Furthermore, my Representative has been critically injured attempting to clear the way for her Regiment." The pale blue glow of her eyes rested on the Palatine, who studied her eviscerator intently. "She is idolized by the Woadians, and her death would devastate them," she said.

"The plan is two-fold," the Inquisitor continued, "locate Magos Tyrham and his assistant, then aid his personal guard in clearing the workshop. Darron," she said, nodding at her Captain. "You recall the layout?"

"Not entirely, my Lady. Enough to get by though, certainly. Where are we landing?"

"Tyrham has informed me the heaviest fighting is on the sixty-seventh floor. We're touching down on a landing pad just below it. We'll cut off the reinforcements below us, and outflank the opposing forces."

A burst of turbulence shuddered the Thunderhawk, rattling the most elite of her war band.

"Since time is of the essence, we cannot assault in force. The fate of the Forge, the war with Josephus, and possibly the Crusade itself hinges on us. The Emperor will protect us, for we are His own."

"The Emperor protects," they intoned, of one voice and mind. A pull of gravity tugged at her stomach as their ascent began.

"Forty seconds to hot-drop," the Sister-Pilot said over the intercom. "LZ is swarming with heretics, still receiving small-arms fire."

"Let loose your fury, Sister," the Palatine replied, gauntleted fingers wrapping around a support hook. The Lady Inquisitor heard the ringing of bullets against the thick steel hull, occasionally punctuated by the deep blare of a belt-fed bolter.

"Copy that Palatine," the intercom replied. "Brace for firing maneuvers." A red light flickered on, the signal for ready-up.

A lurching rocked them in their readiness, and the Thunderhawk vibrated with glee as it opened fire, spraying the landing pad with a rain of death. The Sister-Pilot let loose her missiles as well, the roaring explosions carrying into the insulated hold.

"Prepare for dust-off! The Emperor be with you!" The intercom cried, the craft banking around to disgorge its contents.

The Lady Inquisitor glanced at Yang, the slow rise and fall of her bloodied, ruined chest. She prayed to the Emperor that her friend held on. To ensure her survival, she whispered a few eldritch words into her helmet, casting a net of protection over the gurney, ensuring that any bullets or blows directed at her friend would glance off her aura instead. Once the spell was completed, she readied herself for the slaughter.

* * *

The light switched to an emerald green, and the bay doors shot open, vomiting thick steel cables that uncurled and fell to the landing platform below. Darron waved his team forward into the pre-dawn glow, his hellgun strapped across his chest. Uriel beckoned once more.

"Go, go, go!" He cried, slapping their pauldrons as they hurtled past and hurled themselves onto the ropes. "Let's move it out, people!" The Sisters flew past him, a rushing tide of black ceramite and flapping white battle-silk. They had no need for ropes.

Darron left last, throwing himself from the hold and latching onto the steel cable. He rocketed down, pivoting to appraise the landing pad. It was awash in small arms fire, lasbolts lancing across the scored plating.

His team spread out under the withering hail of death, diving to the ground and bathing the entryway with hellbolts. The heretics had locked it down in the hours since its seizure, fortifying the long metal bridges that connected the field of crates and loading equipment to the towering workshop.

Snapping bullets and searing lasbolts hounded him, and he dove into a firing position, hellgun blaring. The remaining Sisters landed, impacting against the landing pad with the crunching wrench of steel.

Roaring, the Palatine pushed them on, her chainsword singing its lustful cry. They stormed past the kasrkin, storm bolters chewing apart machine gun emplacements and the cultists behind them. Chera looked at him, face questioning beneath the reflective visor of her helm.

"After them, kasrkin!" He cried. "Assault pattern talon!" They weren't accustomed to fighting with the heavily armored (and damn near impervious) Sisters, but they couldn't slacken the pace, not even a little. His Lady's orders.

Astrid and Rodric brought their ballistic shields up, heavy slabs of specially-made ceramite. Though the Sister's power armor whickered aside most attacks, his kasrkins' carapace armor was less capable, strong though it was.

"Aye!" His kasrkin bellowed, lining up behind the shield-bearers. Bounding forward, they assaulted amidst the chorus of death around them. Leaning out from behind the shield, they poured forth a punishing hail of death at the cultists, ripping holes in their defensive lines with accurate, sustained fire.

The Sisters met the first defilade, throwing themselves over the scraped-together half-walls and carving apart the foe with ease.

"Forward!" Darron said, pushing them onwards. A lasbolt struck a shield, and Rodric grunted, but soldiered onwards. Always onwards. Harran ducked out from behind him, skewering a cultist with a well-aimed hellbolt that boiled the flesh of its neck away. More bullets thudded into the shield, but their blood was up, their momentum unswervable.

"Defilade reached!" Astrid cried.

"Over the top, keep pushing!" Darron replied. Like a well-revered machine, they vaulted over the bodies and broken scaffolding, careful to stay behind the protective ballistic shield. "Watch the flanks! Don't stop!"

"Aye!" They shouted once more. The thunderhawk swept low, disgorging the Lady Inquisitor and the last few members of their assault party. Darron watched her step in front of the hovering stretcher that contained the wounded form of Trooper Yang. It soured his expression, a frown spreading across his lips. A lasbolt lanced past him, focusing him once more on the task at hand.

"Fuck!" Chera said, her hellgun billowing steam, "C'mon babe, keep at it!" He patted her pauldron in response, pointing her at a team of heretics maneuvering to flank them on an outside support beam. "Right! Chera, Petir, pivot right! Foot mobiles, take 'em down!" They obeyed with lethal efficiency, scything down the shambling brown forms.

As they pressed forward, the workshop seemed to swallow them whole, a titanic rockcrete pylon that pierced the clouds and stood as the epitome of all that was mystical, all that was mechanical. More heretics had entrenched themselves around the wide blast doors that served as the workshop's loading bay, cowering behind shipping crates and equipment by the score.

"Horst!" Darron bellowed, keeping an eye on his Lady as she neared with her wounded charge. "Hit 'em with the plasma! Chera, have your squad provide suppressing fire!"

They exploded out of the line, rolling into firing positions. As they formed a line of death-spewing hellbolts and carapace armor, Horst readied his plasma gun, flicking a switch near the hilt of the archaic weapon. It whirred to life, blue coils in its receiver igniting into a thrumming roar. Lightning crackled around the barrel, sheer power bound within an unstable frame.

"Bolt on the way!" Horst screamed, his voice alight with agony. With a humming crackle, he unleashed the weapon. A glob of crackling blue power burst from the barrel, and for a second, it felt like they stood upon the surface of a sun. Screaming and howling, it shot towards the heretics, past the Sisters as they carved their foes apart, past the enemy entrenchments.

With a wrenching howl, it tore into the blast doors, spewing flash-heated shrapnel across the landing platform and shaking the metal frame under their feet. The heretics nearest to the door boiled away, while others screamed at the white-hot fragments of steed door jutting from them.

Palatine Naja seized the opportunity. Under a blizzard of hellbolts, she dove into the midst of the arch-foe, her eviscerator a screaming black blur. Her comrades' flamers spat promethium, roasting those that ran. There were no survivors.

"Okay, we're good people, push it up!" Darron cried, waving his kasrkin forward. The scrambled to their feet, hustling to catch up with the fleeter Sisters.

"Ah, fucking _Emperor_," Horst hissed, rank steam pouring from blackened gloves.

"You good?" Chera asked, helping him to his feet. He showed them his hands. The palms and the inside of his fingers had been burnt away, and the scent of cooking flesh rode the vicious wind and filled Darron's nostrils.

"Can you fight, Horst?" Darron asked, glancing at Chera. She shook her head as they hurried along.

"Fuck yeah I can," Horst said, biting the words out from between a clenched grin. His face was invisible behind his ivory mask, but Darron knew a grimace of pain when he heard one. "I mean, it's my job to carry the gun," Horst continued. "She had to turn on me one day or another. Just be glad she didn't blow me up."

"We're all very grateful," Loni said, whipping out a spray can. She doused the exposed flesh in disinfectant, a blue mist that settled onto Horst's sinews. The stormtrooper remained silent. Darron huffed in admiration. Shit hurt like hell, but he knew Horst would be damned if he let it show. "That's it, tough guy," she said. "Don't grab onto anything if you don't have to. Now come on, we're falling behind."

They picked up their pace. A wounded heretic crawled away from them, hobbling on a liquified leg. Casser booted him off the landing pad with his augmentic legs, laughing as the heretic plummeted to his death.

"Quit fucking around, Casser," Chera said, prodding his back. Glancing back at her husband, her helmet shifted in an exaggerated mockery of an eye-roll.

"You know, I'm thinking we already _have_ children," Darron said. Chera giggled at him before pressing on and stomping on the neck of a gurgling heretic. "My Lady, are you ready to push up?"

The Inquisitor's skull-mask dipped in acknowledgement. Rather than lead the way, she'd chosen to stay behind with the Hospitaller, forming a shield for Trooper Yang. He wished a stray bullet would find its way past his Lady and bury itself in the Representative's ear.

He shook the traitorous thought away. _Darron, what the fuck?_ His lips curled into a frown. _It's her fault the Inquisitor's been off her game!_ Although... if Yang were to die, he had a feeling the horrid nightmare on Ranshu would return. He shuddered, despite the heat of his battery pack and the sweltering press of Uriel's toxic air.

His focus returned to the battle.

"Arken, move up with your flamer and clear the entryway!" He cried, waving the stormtrooper forward. Nodding, he jogged on ahead, the pilot light of his heavy flamer sparking as he joined the Sisters. Once he was among them, they pressed forwards, diving into Tyrham's workshop and bathing it in promethium.

At least he could distract himself with battle. Here, he excelled. Chera let loose a whoop of prayer as they entered the workshop, their muzzles sweeping every inch of plasteel. Here, he was at home. Familiar territory.

The loading bay was enormous, a high-ceilinged exercise in mechanical chaos. Piping and wiring by the mile reached under the floor, stretched across the walls, disappeared into the metal arches. Some were as thick around as the Thunderhawk they rode in on, others, no wider than his finger. All of them pumped and hissed, while some spewed steam from hollow gauges. It was a metal nightmare, and it was crawling with cultists.

Falling in between the Sisters, they pressed onwards.

"Foot mobiles, second floor, on the right!" Darron swivelled and fired, Uriel slowing to a crawl around him. The cultists scrambled and bled in slow motion, breaking under the unrelenting force of their assault. Almost a hundred crowded the loading bay, crawling over the scaffolding at the back and dashing between the host of shipping crates.

This is what he lived for. His hellgun roared, supercharged red lances searing the air to flash-cook a heretic, setting the rags he wore alight. Chera and Arden swung their squads around to the flanks, unbidden by any command. Leaping and bounding up the scaffolding stairs, they blitzed forward while Darron's squad and the Sisters stayed the middle.

Sister Eleven let loose her bolter, ripping apart the arch-foe and every inch of the cover they hid behind. Grinning, he watched his wife slide behind a loader at the back corner of the bay. Untouched from their advance and in a prime enfilade, they butchered what remained of the heretics, cutting them down in their dozens until only a heap of smoking bodies remained.

"Exceptional work," the Lady Inquisitor bellowed, her hand clasping her smoking inferno pistol. "We must hurry. If we are to aid Tyrham's guard, we can't let the heretics prepare a defense!"  
"Aye!" Darron cried. "Arken, Chera! On me! Breach the door!" He said, pointing to one of the wide doors that hand been sealed shut by retreating heretics. They complied without question or hesitation, readying the shaped charges and lining up behind the breacher. The Sisters waited, slapping new mags into their bolters or screwing fresh tanks into coughing flamers.

"Charges set, Darron!" Chera cried, stepping away from the charge. She tossed him the detonator, which he caught in a ready hand.

"Ready up, people!" They tensed, lining up behind the Sisters and Arken. He pressed the button, and the thermite-pack burst, rending a hole in the blast doors two meters wide. "Go, go, go!" The Palatine was first through, a hymn on her lips. Her power armor hummed as it launched her forwards, her eviscerator growling as it bit into the waiting cultists. They filed in after her, each cleanly leaping over the molten scrap-hole in the door, muzzles sweeping when they emerged on the other side.

Bullets and lasbolts smacked against the door, a torrent a lead and ozone. The Sisters shrugged it off, invincible behind the their armor and fleur-de-lis-emblazoned helmets. The halls beyond the landing bay were just as expansive, just as covered in odds and ends. Why Tyrham needed an entire tower to be his personal workshop, he would never understand. Hell, the Magos made his skin crawl, to say nothing of his twisted underling.

The sloping hallway stretched out in three directions before them, tunneling behind cluttered corners and under purring machinery. Though there only a few dozen cultists remaining, they were heavily fortified, crouched behind thick metal scrap and manning fluted stubguns.

A scream filled the halls of Tyrham's workshop, the first one not uttered by the arch-foe.

Arken slumped over, his flamer clattering to the floor and shooting out dancing sparks. Blood spurted between the fingers clasped around his flank.

"Aw fuck!" he shouted, slumping over. Darron grimaced, shouting orders to his kasrkin as they supported the Sister's advance. They fanned out, slipping around Arken and laying down a barrage of hellbolts. "They fucking got me! Fuck!" Arken hollered, his fist ringing against the cold metal floor. "Where's my- fuck! Where's my fucking flamer?!" His knees shuffled forward, but they found no purchase on the slickening floor. He collapsed, and fell silent.

"Loni, pick him up!" Darron cried. Emperor, he had a feeling they couldn't stay untouched forever. "Petir, get his shit and get over there! This fire is fucking murderous!"

Crouching, Loni stretched Arken's arm over herself before hoisting him over her shoulders. Standing, she bound his wrists together in a tight hand and couched her hellgun against her shoulder. "Good to go, Captain!"

Nodding, he waved them forward, into the jaws of death. One round punched a Sister in her pauldron, the armor giving way with a wrenching cry. She cried out in the name of the Emperor and pressed onwards, her comrades helping her reclaim her compromised flamer. Blood darkened the immaculate white silk that fluttered around her arms, but she ignored it.

"Malik, advance with the Palatine! Frag 'em!"

"Bounding!" Malik cried, dashing between the wounded Sister and her twin. The Palatine followed, blood-soaked eviscerator spewing gore as she revved its engine. Diving down, he hurled a brace of cooked frags into the cultists.

With a muffled _whumph_ and the harsh whistle of shrapnel, they chewed the heretics apart, sending limbs scattering across the hallway.

"Aw fuck." Arken mumbled, head bouncing against Loni's back. "Fuck." His lips were running over with blood.

With the majority of the Sisters moving up, they cleaned out the last of the defending heretics, stomping their teeth into their twisted, blasphemy-marked faces.

"To the lift, Captain," the Lady Inquisitor ordered, emerging from the landing bay. Sister Mwatabu was behind her, Trooper Yang resting peacefully on her gurney, ignorant of the slaughter that surrounded her.

"Right," he replied. "Palatine, activate the lift. Should be a few meters to the left." _I think. _It had been so long since he'd been on Uriel. Though he'd spent a few months in the building, its layout still seemed confusing and unnatural, pressing down on him like a whirring iron headache.

"Acknowledged," Naja said, cranking a handle. With a rusted groan, the lift doors opened, rusted red doors screeching open. The lift was huge, enough to accommodate a squadron of Aquila landers. They piled on.

"Incoming!" Horst shouted, pointing with a bandaged finger. Down the hall, heretic reinforcements stormed forward, shouting and cursing in a foul tongue. There were hundreds, packed into the hall like rats in a sewer.

"Sister Eleven?"

"Yes, Palatine," the titanic Sister replied, stepping forward. Settling into a firing position, she ignored the bullets that sparked off her towering armor. "KNOW FEAR, HERETICS!" She bellowed, unleashing her massive weapon.

It roared.

Casings rang like cannon-shells against the floor of the lift, hundreds of explosive shells tearing her foes into a rain of offal and shredded flesh. Under the covering fire, the Inquisitor and Mwatabu loaded Trooper Yang onto the lift, careful not to jar her.

"Take us up!" His Lady cried.

Arden punched the button, and the thick metal doors groaned shut. Sister Eleven let her fire die out. Silence reigned for a moment as the lift started upwards. Eleven's chest rose and fell, steam curling out of her heavy bolters.

"Lift should take a minute to reach the next floor," Darron said. "I suggest everyone ready themselves."

His kasrkin obeyed, pumping coolant into their hellguns and catching their breath. Loni let Arken down and did what she could to stem the bleeding.

Chera sidled up behind him, her back to his. "Now I don't know about fear," she whispered, "but those heretics got friendly with death fast enough." Darron huffed, a half-laugh. "Arken should be okay. We're headed to see Prexius, after all. He couldn't be in a better place." Her reassurances took the weight off his pauldrons, and his head stooped for a second.

"For the love of the Emperor, stay safe," he whispered back.

"I will, Darron." Discreetly, she patted his armored rump. "You watch this for me, okay? I might need it later."

"Of course. Lock and load." She nodded, spinning to rally her squad into a firing line. The Sisters did so as well, disengaging from their wounded Sister to form a protective shield at the front of the lift doors.

They opened reluctantly, revealing a hellish battlefield one inch at a time. This floor was some sort of atrium, wide enough to accommodate an entire regiment. The room was split down the middle, where robed skitarii had dug in by felled statues of ancient Magi.

"Thank the Gods!" A heretic yowled as the doors slid open, turning to face its contents. "Reinforcements! Metal bastards are-" his voiced died immediately when he found who he was speaking to. Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi was not pleased.

Before he could raise a cry of alarm, her hand enveloped his face, and her fingers twitched. Blood, brains and bits of skull shot out between her knuckles, and the headless corpse fell to the ground.

"For the Emperor!" the Palatine roared, a cry echoed by the entire task force. Even Arken mumbled an approximation, his head still bouncing against Loni's back.

* * *

It took ten minutes to clear the atrium. Ten minutes of following the Sisters' gouts of flame, polishing off whatever remained in their furious wake. Darron was the first to reach the skitarii, waving his arms and hailing them with standard challenge protocols.

A clipped mechanical chirping welcomed this, a sound that echoed up and down the battle-line. Behind the felled statues, a single skitarii emerged, his onyx and once-royal robes tattered and worn. A set of printed silver snowflakes ringed the crown of his hood, the swell of his cloak etched in Mechanicus red and trimmed with shining gold. His face was masked behind an all-encompassing mask, its eyes a chilling blue.

"Greetings," he said, his voice flanged and vox-enhanced. "You must be with the Lady Inquisitor." The machine-warrior appraised him, glowing blue goggles parsing over the panting kasrkin.

"That is correct," the Lady Inquisitor replied, stalking over to Darron and the rest of the skitarii. Behind her trailed Sister Mwatabu and Trooper Yang, still bound to the gurney.

"Welcome, Lady Inquisitor. Lord Tyrham mentioned your arrival." His subordinates vaulted over the statue, falling into a perfect line besides their spokesman. "We are honored by your presence." Their fists rang against their armor, a brief, uniform salute. "Hail, the Lady Inquisitor!"

"HAIL, THE LADY INQUISITOR," they droned.

"I trust the way to Magos Tyrham is unobstructed?" She asked, sheathing her power sword.

"Correct. Though this sector is clear for now, our Master's Workshop is far from purged. The heretics are like roaches," he added.

"Very well. My Sisters and a few of my kasrkin will assist you. Now please, make way, I need to reach the Magos as soon as possible."

The skitarii leader nodded, barking a few orders in unintelligible gibberish. They split apart, and a few offered to escort the Inquisitor and company to Tyrham.

Turning, the Lady Inquisitor's mask bored into Darron. "Captain," she said, "Have Loni bring Arken along. With any luck, his survival might still be secured."

Nodding, Darron ordered the medic to accompany the Inquisitor. _Thank the Emperor. He might still be saved._

"I'll do everything to ensure he survives," she continued. "He served well."

"That he did, my Lady. Would you like me to accompany you?"

She shook her head, already stomping off towards the Magos' hub. "Remain here and help coordinate an effective defense. I will return to help cleanse the Workshop after speaking with the Magos."

He saluted sharply, but she didn't see it. Chera and his personal squad remained, the rest departing with their Lady.

Sighing, he strode over to the skitarii commander, picking his way across the scarred and blood-soaked atrium. Corpses littered it, their blood forming red rivers that merged and formed a thick lake the center of the floor. Most were brown-clad and marked with heretical symbols. Only a few skitarii lie dead, broken and spent like a busted bolter.

As he approached, the black-robed figures chittered among themselves, exchanging glances as they examined the kasrkin.

"Welcome back to Uriel, Lord Captain," the commander said, "I am Kappa-Sigma-One, a Skitarii Alpha of Master Tyrham's personal guard."

"Well-met," he replied.

Chera dipped her head in acknowledgment as well. "Chera and Darron Marius, at your service." More chittering.

"Lord Captain, Lady Lieutenant, are you perchance members of the Lady Inquisitor's original guard force?" He asked, head cocked quizzically. Chera slackened, preening over her fancy title, no doubt grinning from ear to ear.

However, Darron hesitated, fingers coiling around the hilt of his lasgun. This wasn't how he remembered the skitarii. "That is correct, Sigma-One."

"Then would you do us the brief favor of removing your masks?"

Puzzled, Darron and Chera exchanged a quick glance. Their faces were invisible, but other body language spoke volumes. Her shoulders went taught, and she pulled at the bandolier that sat over her shoulder. The brief trill of pleasure at her title had evaporated. Something was off.

"I will, but we really must be going."

"Worry not, my Lord and Lady," Sigma-One said holding his hand up. "I have just received word from my commander, Master of Skitarii Alpha-Six-Seraph. The heretics are routing. Fear has taken hold of their hearts." His soldiers cheered at this, a low buzzing sound that resonated from under their hoods.

"We must not relent, Sigma-One," Darron reminded him.

"Of course not, Lord Captain. Come, I'll take you Alpha-Six-Seraph's command bunker."

"Very well," Darron said, his hellgun dipping. Looking over at his wife, he nodded. As one, they removed their masks. The skitarii went silent, their binary cant dying away.

"Praise the Omnissiah," Sigma-One said, stepping back. Turning to his subordinates, he barked an order.

They removed their masks as well, and Chera bit down a scream.

Facing them were their mirror images, wrought in the pallid, metal-fused flesh of the Mechanicus. Twenty pairs of augmented violet eyes stared back at them, their visages calm and collected.

"Emperor protect me," Darron whispered, looking at Sigma-One. His eyes were Chera's their angle haughty, their whites pure and bright. The skitarii's chin was his own, devoid of its usual stubble.

"In your image, we were created," Sigma-One boomed, a flicker of a smile stretching across his pale and quivering lips. "With your blood, we were forged. We are the greatest of the skitarii!" His men made the Sign of the Cog behind him, heads bowing.

Chera's hand clasped his own, and he squeezed it as tightly as he could.

* * *

**A/N: Methinks there's been a few experiments. Hopefully you guys enjoyed that chapter! It's the last bit of action for a while, as the next few chapters are dialogue-heavy, and more focused on character development and set-up for further conflicts.**

**And yeah, if you're thinking, 'boy, these are some weird skitarii', there'll be some elaboration on the matter later. As for Darron and Chera, they're so damnably cute. Emperor protect me.**

**Also, holy _shit_. Thank you guys so much for all your reviews. The amount of support I've been receiving lately is mind-blowing. You guys are the best!**

**Review Replies:**

**The Walrus of Eden: I thought about doing the same, but you're right, it wouldn't have served the story very well at all. As for citrus... no comment.**

**555814: Thank you! **

**reality deviant: Happy New Year's to you as well!**

**Victor L: That was a very... insightful review. You pretty much hit the nail on the head, especially when you said that Yang needed it. She needed to get smacked down, since she hasn't really been challenged in a meaningful way since her arrival. Also, very pleased to hear that you like the OCs. Amat in particular is hard to write, and it's always nice to see the time spent crafting him is well spent. As for blanks, she's much too powerful a psyker to survive their presence for long.**

**snoogenz: Wow! :D You're too kind haha. Thanks so much for all your reviews last year! I've loved reading all your reviews!**

**redcollecter: Oh, you have no idea.**

**Nhobody: Hey there, stranger! Good to see a new face! I'm happy to hear you're liking the story. As for the rest of the story, things will start to take shape here shortly. :)**

**Firehawk242: It was certainly Ruby, but it wasn't 'her' exactly. I'd tell you exactly what was going on, but it'd ruin it!**

**Kamzil118: I had a blast writing it! **

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: As I said above, I'd explain Ruby's 'presence', but it would spoil a few things. Although the idea of Ruby being the older sister is endlessly amusing.**

**Parks98: Fuck yeah! **

**tankbuster626: Goddamn right. It's been so much fun porting her character into the Imperium!**

**Darkerpaths: Hopefully this longer one makes up for it hahaha**

**Inquisitor Azreal: Now that, my friend, is a very interesting theory!**

**blaiseingfire: Sorry about that... haha**

**Fencer22: I'm glad you enjoyed it! **

**Galm: Thanks! And yeah, killing her off at the halfway point just seemed... wrong.**

**OBSERVER01: Thanks! I liked it too, and I hope everyone can enjoy Amat as his own character. **

**Kidkaboom1: Regarding Amat, there'll be some elaboration regarding that whole thing. ;) And I read it, but while some 'characters born in another universe' stories work out, that one didn't do it for me. Not that it was bad, just the opposite! Just not what I'm looking to read haha**

**LegionOfMisfits: Haha! Glad to hear you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Kiyoushu: Well... compared to her compatriots, being needlessly cryptic is the most minor of her sins! XD**

**Scot911: Love to see that you're so curious about the Eldar! And as I said above, I can't clarify on Rose-o-vision just yet!**

**SanguinePanguine: Haha loving the enthusiasm! And yes, there will be an Eldar chapter here... but when? It's impossible to say. ;)**

**Quelthias: That's the hope, isn't it? I wonder what will happen though...**

**CommandoDude: Hey, thanks so much for stopping by, new friend! Though you're not the first person to praise the balance I've struck, I'm certainly pleased to hear it again - it's something that's balanced on a knife's edge, and keeping it that way is no easy task. Thanks again!**

**ATP: Thank you! The Paladin would simply be a softer-hitting, more mobile dreadnaught. Not sure if it'd be tougher to kill though... hmmm.**

**Nemris: It was carefully forged! XD As for more permanent damage, I think Sister Mwatabu laid out the ramifications of tanking A FUCKING SHIELD-BREAKER ROUND pretty nicely! :D**

**GuntherRiechwald: She'll be missed. :'(**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Oh shit, I should have known that. But yes, blasting Hotline Miami music while watching Yang kick all kinds of ass is very appropriate.**

**Happy New Year: No problem!**

**LuckyFractal: Hahaha Weiss is pretty great, although I might be a bit biased if I admit to liking her as an Inquisitor a little bit more. :P Glad you're enjoying Amat! He's a _very_ tough character to nail! **

**cyclone13: It's been a challenge, but I figured I could slip in bits and pieces. :)**

**Gafgar: Well, people want to see more Remnant interlopers, so I guess I can't blame them. **

**Hefster: Haha thanks so much for giving it a read! I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story so much!**

**A Flying Tomato: It wasn't easy...**

**theblacklightprojekt: Not really my personal headcanon, just how I think the show's going to turn out. Somewhat. Kinda. It's complicated lol**

**soupie1394: I guess that's a close approximation, but he was based more off of Sergeant Colbert from the Generation Kill TV series... but with a 'I've been wearing a mask for four years' beard.**

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**Whew! Once again... thank you guys so much. Keep 'em coming! Your reviews fuel my progress! :D**


	44. Revenant Cogs

**A/N: Guess who's back?! :D**

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 43: Revenant Cogs**

"_Josephus the Corruptor is no ordinary spell-weaver." - From 'Exterminatus Prioritas', a book describing dangerous heretics and arch-foes in the Segmentum Obscurus_

The skitarii's black-red robes swirled with speed, flapping to match the Lady Inquisitor's long strides. Loni struggled as well, the barrel of her hellgun clenched in a sweating hand. On her back hung Arken, who moaned in senseless agony. Some of her kasrkin followed as well, huffing into their pale white masks as their feet rang against the cold metal floor.

The Lady Inquisitor was pleased with them, and inwardly glad Arken had suffered a bullet wound. Darron's rank suspicion of Yang and his reaction to her unchecked wrath on Ranshu had distanced him from her, and though his loyalty was still absolute, his world had been shaken.

Handing over him and his wife's genes to Prexius for use in Tyrham's skitarii guard was sure to upset him further. Arken's recovery would assuage his worries, if only for a time. She was also pleased that the kasrkin might survive. They were loyal companions, and their lives were precious, costly things.

Conditioning them over several decades had been an investment, but a worthwhile one. Once Abaddon was beaten from Cadia, she would return them to their devastated homeworld to act as nascent distributors of Recongregrator philosophy. She would miss their company.

The Lady Inquisitor smiled underneath her helmet. Their assault had been glorious to watch. More importantly, Yang had remained untouched, and still drew breath upon the gurney.

"Master Tyrham's chambers are near, my Lady," her skitarii guide droned, the voice staticky and flanged as it escaped his engraved mask.

"Very well," she replied. "My thanks." She didn't need his guidance, but accepted it anyway. The halls of the Workshop were still familiar to her, even after two decades' distance. Little escaped the steel trap of her memory.

Their guide summoned a lift at the end of the hall. As they waited for its arrival, a platoon of skitarii rushed past, bionic legs whirring in perfect lockstep, the long barrels of their galvanic rifles and transuranic arquebuses clenched tight against their shoulders.

"Hail!" They cried in flanged unison as they passed. "Hail the Lady Inquisitor!"

"Blessings of the Omnissiah to you," she replied, slamming a fist against her breast. They copied the gesture, of one mind and purpose.

Sister Mwatabu shifted in her armor, fiddling with the knobs on her armor.

"Something amiss, Sister?"

"Their God has always unnerved me," she said, inspecting the hole in Arken's carapace armor. "And even though your dedication to the Emperor is absolute, it disturbs me to see you use one of their blessings."

The lift arrived, its doors opening like a millennia-old vice. "I care very little about your reservations. Keep them to yourself," the Lady Inquisitor said as she stepped aboard, "Magos Tyrham is one of my allies. We are in his domain, and shall act accordingly."

Her kasrkin made noises of affirmation, masks bobbing in the barebone light of the lift's flickering fluorescents. Their wargear had been optimized by some of Tyrham's staff the last time they'd been on Uriel, and they'd been ever thankful of it.

"Very well, my Lady," Mwatabu said, eyes narrowing at their escort. _Troublesome, one-minded woman. Her hospitaller status inflates her sense of self-worth far beyond its ken._

The skitarii plugged himself into a console at the front of the lift, connecting headwires and whirring bionic cables into concealed slots. Burbling in binary, he interfaced with the lift, shutting the doors and sending them skywards.

Her fingers drummed against the hilt of her power sword as the lift shifted tracks. Reaching into her rucksack, she removed the red book, carefully splitting it open and parsing its contents with a rustling of ancient paper. The stable of techpriests she kept aboard the _Scythe of Morning_ had already created a digital version of the text, three copies of which she carried in separate data slates. Ira had one, and she carried two. Several others remained on the _Scythe of Morning._ Her investigation must not falter.

Whatever Josephus was searching for, his commitment to find it spoke volumes about its significance.

_Ruby._

She shook her head. Behind her, Yang coughed, spraying blood against her oxygen mask.

"We have arrived," their guide said, withdrawing himself from the terminal. The doors slid open, revealing Magos Tyrham's personal residence.

Situated in the core of his Workshop, the room was a testament to Tyrham's power and prestige on Uriel. The ceiling was soaring yet invisible, blocked by countless crowded catwalks, power conduits, and chuffing pipes. Cherubim cluttered the air, each trailing long scrolls of parchment. Servo-skulls by the hundreds bobbed around on puffs of anti-gravity, chittering and warbling as they attended their tasks. Several lesser Magi and dozens of techpriests slaved over glowing consoles, their mechadendrites writhing and tapping at dozens of interfaces.

A servitor wheeled past, ignorant of the Inquisitor's arrival.

"Magos Tyrham, I have arrived!" She cried, descending the steps that led from the lift doors. Her retinue followed, stepping around the jungle of cables that snaked over the floor.

The Magos stood in the center of the coordinated madness, next to a Chimera-wide pylon covered in monitors and input stations. He turned to face her, long red robes rustling as they shifted around his mechanical bulk. The holographic projection did not do his presence justice, as he'd made some adjustments since they last met. Standing three meters tall on backwards-bent bionic legs, he appraised her, six glowing eyes peering out from the the darkness of his hood.

He bowed steeply in acknowledgment, arms unfolding with cacophony of clanks and grinding metal to hem the robes that fluttered against the floor. _He's taken some of my samples to heart._ Standing to his full height, he detached himself from his control pylon.

"You've changed, Magos," the Lady Inquisitor said, a half-smile working its way across her lips. "New legs?"

"Among other adjustments," he admitted, before cocking his head quizzically. "You are equipped with raiments of war. Other than that, you are unchanged, Lady. Thank you for your assistance."

"My allies deserve no less," she said.

"Pleased to be among their number," he replied. His mechadendrites worked even as he spoke, passing tools and data slaets between themselves. "You come in… dire times."

The Lady Inquisitor nodded, reaching into her rucksack. Bringing forth the red book once morre, she brandished it before him, dwarfing it with black fingers lined with silver. "My investigation requires your assistance."

Magos Tyrham surged forward, a tsunami of bionic energy and curiosity. His legs whirred and clanked as he approached, each step resounding in the spacious chambers. "A journal?" A metal arm emerged from within his robes, eight-fingered and filigreed. "May I?"

She handed it to him.

Leafing through the pages, he squawked in binary. "Where did you find this?" He demanded, circling her with great mechanical stomping. "An ancient tome."

Looking up at the Magos, the Lady Inquisitor rested a hand on her power sword. The last person to seize the book had been… corrupted. She trusted her judgement that the book itself was untouched by chaos, but she would not be caught unawares.

"Rarely are you so animated, Magos. Is something amiss?"

"Negative, Lady." He replied. The whirring apparatuses that stemmed from his back ceased their tasks, all focusing on the book in his gilded arms.

Her kasrkin looked at her, awaiting an explanation. Nothing was forthcoming.

"Magos Tyrham, there are official matters we must discuss," she said. Looking at the chaos of his chambers, she decided that such a place was unfit for the business at hand. Too many prying eyes and open ears. "Is there somewhere else we could speak? I wish to see the work you've performed on Myrtenaster. And some of my retinue require care."

"Of course," he said, "of course, of course. Follow." A mechadendrite waved them forward as he lumbered towards an adjacent room. Magos Prexius' Laboratory.

The kasrkin who had been with her twenty years ago shuddered, reluctant to follow the Inquisitor. Loni had no choice, and she swallowed before readjusting Arken and hustling after her master.

The door was colossal, but simple in its construction. Besides the ubiquitous mechanicus skull, the only other decorations on its frame were the symbols of the Magos Biologis, a dozen of which encircled its progenitor emblem.

It roared open, tumblers screaming as the frame swallowed the three-inch-wide steel. The Lady Inquisitor and her retinue followed Magos Tyrham inside, and she made sure Yang's gurney cleared the gap successfully.

The interior was dim, dank, and claustrophobic - the antitheses of Tyrham's chambers. Most of the light glowed from the vats that lined the furthest wall of the room and drowned the room in deep-ocean blues. Surgical tables littered the metal floor, accompanied by mechanical growths that blistered from the ceiling, laden with sharp blades and a legion of injectors. Defunct servitors garbled and clanked as they patrolled the blue gloom.

Even through the filters of her helm, the Lady Inquisitor could smell the sterile reek of disinfectant, a miasma of cleanliness that seeped into every nook of her armor.

With a resounding crash, the door slammed shut behind them, startling Christa. Sister Mwatabu chastised her, swatting the back of her helmet. "Stay strong, Trooper," she mumbled.

"Certain this is necessary?" Magos Tyrham asked, absentmindedly throwing a few light switches as his long strides took him to the center of the room. "My chambers and company are without flaw."

"I am certain. Where is Prexius?"

Hundreds of insectoid legs announced her arrival, metal chittering that echoed deep into the darkest corners of the room. "Here, Lady Inquisitor," she said in her husky whisper. Magos Ada Prexius descended from the ceiling, four meters of interlocked insectoid carapace studded with apparatuses and mechadendrites.

Doused in blue light, her humanoid half emerged as well, wrapped within torn and ragged mechanicus robes. Four twisting limbs uncurled from within her robes, servos hissing and spitting steam.

"Welcome to my laboratory," she cooed, snaking closer to the Lady Inquisitor and her retinue. Sister Mwatabu balked at the sight of her, before a quick glance strangled her complaints in their crib.

She neared, revealing her face.

Long raven hair billowed forth from her hood, surrounding porcelain-white skin and wide, pink-hued eyes. The Lady Inquisitor could not keep her gaze from the Magos' supple lips, which she'd painted an… uncomfortable shade of red.

Sighing with content, her body writhed itself around Loni's feet, while various instruments poked and prodded at Arken's wound.

"This one is Arken, no?" she asked. "Their names were logged so long ago…" Unfurling herself, she pointed to a surgical table. "Leave him there, I'll deal with him shortly." She bustled over to Seff, inspecting him with curiosity. Her hundreds of legs moved like a metal ripple, shifting and folding as they clattered against the cold floor.

"New blood as well," she said. "Such fascinating creatures, these Cadians," she added, caressing Seff's face with skeletal metallic fingers. With a slick hiss, a small sampling knife sprung from the titanium pad of her index finger.

Tyrham barked at her in binary. She retreated, slithering away from Seff with reluctant haste.

"If you could, Magos," the Lady Inquisitor said, hoping to redirect the monstrous woman away from her petrified guardsman. "Another member of my retinue is critically wounded. She requires immediate attention."

Syringes sprouted like claws from Prexius' hand, and she chittered forwards. Nodding at Yang, the Inquisitor sent a quick prayer to the Emperor. _Please. Save my friend._

"Another Cadian!" Prexius chirped, examining the pile of rags and meat that was Yang Xiao Long. "And these wounds! What a resilient specimen!" She hummed a short tune in binary, summoning a host of servitors. They freed her from her gurney and spirited her away to an operating table, peeling off bandages as they went. A blinding light flickered into existence over the table, suffusing the room in piercing white light. Muttering in binary, Prexius began her task.

Magos Tyrham turned to face the Inquisitor.

"She is no different," she said.

"Runtimes are hard-coded," Tyrham suggested. A servitor led them to a table, bloodstained and rusting at the corners. "Besides this," he said, gently setting the book down before them, "there is the matter of the arch-foe infesting my Workshop. Surely you do not mean to extract me?"

The Lady Inquisitor shook her head. "The heretics know I am here. They will flee your workshop like bilge rats."

"Psychic abilities are well-recorded. And the general defense?"

"General Campbell will be setting forth shortly. Your fellow Magi have hindered our progress, citing concerns about damaging your Forge," she explained, settling herself onto a provided chair.

"Small-minded," Tyrham said, "they are no different from your last visit."

"Speaking of which," the Lady Inquisitor reminded him, "how have you found everything? Useful, I hope?"

His gilded mask dipped, orange eyes shuttering. "The genetic material provided by your guard has greatly augmented my skitarii's effectiveness. Magos Prexius is the one to speak with about that."

"And Myrtenaster?"

"Completed five point six-two standard years ago. Psycho-reactive materials are a…" he paused, as if he was taking a breath. "Processing. They are a _joy_ to work with. Apologies, phrasing unfamiliar. A tech-priest will be along with the weapon shortly." Stopping, he flipped through the red book once more, hands moving with nanometer precision as they parsed the pages.

"And the other Magi?" She said.

"Suspicious, but silent. They have not encroached upon my Forge." _Good. _It had been with her help that they had desisted from investigating Tyrham. From what she knew, his practices were considered unsavory by the Cult Mechanicus. But she could not afford their backwards thinking to squander such a talented (and more importantly, powerful) asset.

She watched him read, bringing her fingertips together in remembrance. It had been no easy feat, but she'd crushed the insurgency on Uriel, shifted the blame, burned the records, butchered the survivors. With her powers and some carefully-constructed 'proof', her words had convinced the Magos Council their fears were misplaced and misguided.

Grinning, she leaned forward, peering into the black of Tyrham's hood. "To answer your earlier question, I discovered that on Ranshu, in the Archives of Saint Totha."

"Ranshu?" Tyrham replied, handing the book to several of his mechadendrites. "Processing. Located." He was silent for a time. "Unsure of how it arrived so far away from its home."

"Its home?" The Lady Inquisitor asked, unable to disguise her interest.

"This text is binary, coded in an archaic algorithm." Tyrham stopped, stooping to match her gaze. "Two millennia old, in fact."

The Lady Inquisitor swallowed. This wasn't just ancient, it was a _relic!_ "And how does that reveal its origin? Binary, as I understand it, is a language spoken by the Mechanicus across the Imperium."

"But the algorithm is not… it is from Uriel." Tyrham nodded, turning to the Inquisitor. "I can't make sense of it all. Not yet. Additional translation is required. Preliminary results are… troubling."

"Troubling?"

"The text is erratic. The code deviates from accepted standards." His hands folded together to make the Sign of the Cog, a gesture unique to the Cult Mechanicus. "...But I was able to identify the author."

_Finally!_ The Lady Inquisitor thought, sitting forward. She stole a glance at Ira, who was similarly excited. _Progress! One step closer to Josephus. To Ruby._ _To Abaddon and victory! _She knew not what the book contained, not yet, but all would be revealed in time. Nothing escaped her for long.

"This codex and its contents are the property of Magos Hagai," Tyrham said. The Lady Inquisitor remained still, unfazed.

"The name is unfamiliar," she said, perplexed by the apprehension in Tyrham's sub-vocals.

"_Josephus_ Hagai."

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**A/N: AWWWWwwwwww shiiit! **

**Sorry about the wait (and the shorter chapter). Been busy with a new semester and what not. Hopefully you enjoyed it!**

**Please, let me know what you thought, and drop a review!**

**Review Replies:**

**Darkerpaths: An interesting opinion!To be honest, I'm just gonna go ahead and weasel out by saying that this story isn't about the 40k galaxy, it's about Yang making her way through it. It's not about all the 'remnant friends' meeting up again either, but I hope the revelation in this latest chapter should push the plot wheels along. **

**Absolute Configuration: Sorry, but Myrtenaster is next chapter! Glad to hear you enjoyed the POV switch-up!**

**snoogenz: That was pretty much the haunting implication. What do you mean by award situation?**

**tankbuster626: They're the armed forces of the Mechanicus. Think Imperial guard, but all wired up and metal-ly! :D**

**Darth Sith'ari: I can't say, sorry! **

**DofChaos97: He'll come up in the story again, but we probably won't be meeting him for a looooong time, if ever.**

**redcollecter: Well, that and the revelations. :)**

**Kaeni: Hey, thanks so much for your kind words! I'm doing my best to go professional, but it's a difficult market...**

**ATP: Ave Cadia! :D**

**Guest: Hahaha! I try to keep it going! Everyone's reviews helps a lot with that.**

**Quelthias: _Bionic_ Yang!**

**RampantPoultry: Thanks so much! OCs can be the life and death of fics, so it's good to hear you like them. :)**

**Scot911: Yeah, probably not a situation that happens everyday...**

**Kamzil118: Of course!**

**Gafgar: The process is complicated. Not warp-y at _all_, but certainly flirting with the concept of techno-heresy.**

**soupie13941: I've gotten a few other comments like yours (about being the first time reading about kasrkin)! YO, BLACK LIBRARY! I'M UP FOR IT IF YOU'LL HAVE ME!**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Creepy cogboys are creepy, after all.**

**OBSERVER01: Now I would LOVE to read a 'reading' version of this fic. It's cause I have an oversized ego. **

**Pektraan: Glad to hear you're enjoying it so much! No aura/psyker explanation though, sorry!**

**Hefster: Well, I never specified who Maion's ancestor was, only that she was female!**

**Nemris: Glad to hear you liked them! I wanted to give it a little bit of a "Rainbow Six Siege" vibe, with extreme competence to offset what the Woadians normally bring to the table.**

**Kiyoushu: The process is a closely kept secret. And Sisters of Battle literally have no concept of chill. It's pretty much _built into their identity_ that they don't have chill!**

**Yoshtar: I... thank you? I think? :D**

**mr.a: They are not happy about the development, I can tell you that much.**

**Sigurd: Hahaha! Actually made me laugh. :)**

**robyork1690: Glad you're enjoying it so much! Can't comment on your theory though, sorry!**

**LegionOfMisfits: I wrote a Maion chapter, just for you. I mean, not really, but I finished it just as I got your review, which made me laugh. Thanks so much for all your reviews!**

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**Thanks again, you guys! It really means a lot to me that you're enjoying the story so much! :D**


	45. Revenant Concordance

**A/N: Let's see how this plays out, shall we? **

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**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 44: Revenant Concordance**

"_Their puppet strings are radiant and strangling, y__et they insist they are free, even as their last breath is wrenched from them." - __**[REDACTED]**_

The Lady Inquisitor said nothing, taking in Magos Tyrham's revelation with poise and grace. She inspected his mask instead, blue eyes tracing the filigree stylings and details that surrounded the piercing orange glow of his eyes.

"Do you suppose that Magos Hagai and Josephus the Corruptor could be one and the same?" She asked.

"Extremely plausible," Tyrham started, arms clacking and hissing as they folded up into his robe. "Need to check records. Basic timeline holds up. The Corruptor first appeared in Imperial records almost two millennia ago," he said, augmented mind recalling the relevant data. "Although it is theorized he compromised his soul long before that. His specialty lay not in war-mongering, but sowing lesser minds with heresy and doubt."

"Now if Magos Hagai is the same person, how could he have reached such so many worlds?" The Lady Inquisitor prompted, crossing her arms. A sneer of wrath pulled her features tight as she remembered the wave of revolutions that swept through the nearby systems. "Could he have been a part of an Explorator fleet?"

"Astute observation," Magos Tyrham said, his titanic legs hissing pneumatically as they whorled him around. "Uriel has sent forth several. Successes, all of them. Except the one sent in M38.401," he said.

"I won't pretend to know what happened," The Inquisitor said, blood running cooler than usual, "but I can guess. Disappeared? Several of the ships found gutted and scoured?"

"Conjecture ninety three point six percent accurate," Tyrham said, his usual droning inflection marred by a note of dread. "Further conjecture: Magos Hagai fell to the Dark Gods at some point during his travels with the Fleet."

"Possibly before," The Lady Inquisitor said, "recall my earlier visit here. The corruption had sunk deep into the roots of Uriel. I thought I cleansed it all, but that appears to have been incorrect." She paused, looking over at Prexius. The Magos was hunched over Yang, her long body and skittering limbs twitching with excitement. The grinding of her tools was audible a dozen meters away. A high-tide wave of discomfort rolled across the minds of her kasrkin.

"It is likely that Josephus was either corrupted here," she continued, blocking out the bloody bandages spirited away by Prexius' servitors, "or he left agents to do his bidding before his departure. I think we can be agreed, however, that 'Magos Hagai' and Josephus the Corruptor are the same being."

Said aloud, it seemed final and resolute. Even Tyrham had no response, choosing instead to settle himself in the blue glow of Prexius' laboratory. _But where... why... how does Ruby fit into all of this?_

"Written journal seemed suspicious," he said, producing the red book.

"I have a digital copy here," the Lady Inquisitor said, retrieving a data pad. She tossed it to him, letting it slide across the table that separated them.

A binary chirp of interest escaped the Magos, and he scooped up the slate with all haste. A cable emerged from within his robes before embedding itself in the object.

"Deciphering will be more expedient this way," he said. "Though accurate translation will still take time to complete."

"Take as long as you need," she replied, "there can be no errors. There is too much at stake. Though why is a journal suspicious?" _Accurate note taking is the only way to ensure nothing is lost or forgotten._

"Mechanicus' official records are kept on cogitators," Magis Tyrham said, retreating into his hood. "Or similar digital platforms. All of which are penetrable by machine-spirits and hacker-programs." He stopped, eyes parsing Sister Mwatabu. "Secrets are easier to keep when scribed in ink. Very creation of such an object is grounds for suspicion."

_You must keep several then_, the Lady Inquisitor thought. She knew Tyrham's views on innovation would be ill-regarded by the other Magi... if they knew of them. She remembered such thoughts referred to as 'Tech-Heresy'. A puff of air escaped her nostrils. _What stupidity._

Mending the Imperium would be challenging enough, but with the Mechanicus stuck in such a backwards rut of thought, it would be even more difficult. The Martians' way of life was impenetrable to her, but perhaps Ira would be able to plant the seeds of reform once he ascended to his calling.

As for Tyrham, she knew he was a boon unlike any other. No matter what the Mechanicus thought of him, as long as he continued to venerate the Omnissiah, their cries of 'heresy' would fall on deaf ears.

Magos Tyrham waved his arm at the laboratory door, and it erupted into motion, revealing a pair of tech-priests. "My assistants," he explained. "I called for them when you arrived. They bear the fruits of our previous collaboration." _Myrtenaster._

They stepped forwards, into the midst of the chuffing servitors and the pale blue light.

One carried a silken bundle in a nest of mechadendrites, his steps reverent and measured. The other's burden was unshrouded, carried on a plain silver platter. It was a bottle of wine.

"Show of goodwill as well," Tyrham added, nodding at the bottled vintage.

Her tongue ran over her lips before her gaze centered on the bundle of silk. She nodded at the tech-priest as he weaved his way through her kasrkin.

Bowing before her, he extended the edge of his burden. The Lady Inquisitor almost choked on the breath that dug itself into the flesh of her throat. Her weapon. Once the last reminder of Remnant, now just one more sign that her youth was real, the time spent on her homeworld concrete and unforgettable.

The hilt slipped loose of the ebony silk, already different than it was before. The solid sterling pommel had been replaced with a larger counterweight, a slim onyx skull with eyes of frosted sapphire. Also adjusted was the metal grip, now lined with blessed runes.

With a hiss of metal on silk, she slid the blade loose.

It was glorious.

Myrtenaster had been forged anew, the mirror of its owner. Though still thin by Imperial standards, the rapier's conical blade had been flattened and reinforced, edged in glittering adamantium. According to her wishes, the flat of the blade bore an etching of her own design - a blizzard of snowflakes intertwined with roses and their stretching thorns.

The revolver section of the sword had been re-chambered to fit smaller bolt shells, the circular crossguard wider and black enough to suck in the cerulean glow that surrounded it. As always, it was lined in sterling silver.

Closing her eyes, she channeled her aura into the weapon. Augmented by the warp's eldritch power, the weapon ignited. The etchings sprung to life as lightning danced down the weapon, snaking around the adamantium edges. It continued to pulse with power, the blade thrumming with warp energies and the light of the Inquisitor's soul.

She swung it, listened to its deathly hum as it carved out a slice of air.

"Magnificent work, Magos," she said. Turning to face her guard, her kasrkin stood in awe of the weapon. Even with their faces clouded in alabaster grimm masks, they couldn't hide their astonishment.

"Humbled," he replied evenly. "Although I can not claim one hundred percent of its artistry. The Dust-alloy blade was malleable beyond reason. With significant quantities…" he trailed off into a string of incomprehensible binary, his processors spinning at full power.

"Have you made any progress with the provided sample?" She prompted. After her adventures as an acolyte under the Hallowed Inquisitor, only two Dust rounds remained to her, precious treasures guarded as closely as her thoughts. One remained on the _Scythe of Morning_, under bolt and key. The other she'd left with Tyrham.

Though on Remnant, Dust ceased working once you traveled too far away from the planet, for some reason, it functioned perfectly in the Imperium. Though wieldable with an aura, the Lady Inquisitor never once detected warp-taint within the samples remaining to her.

The Magos stooped, his face meeting the Inquisitor's. "The material is…" His arm extended, bringing with it a small Dust crystal. "Wondrous. This is all I managed to synthesize."

Gauntleted fingers plucked the electric-blue slice of Remnant from Tyrham, bringing it near for closer inspection. It was uncut and polluted, but it was Dust. Forty years at the head of the Schnee Dust Company left her with many skills, none of them forgotten since she arrived in the Imperium. Tumbling the crystal through her fingers before clenching it in the palm of her hand, she sent a pulse of her aura into its glowing facets.

The crystal sang back, ready to be unleashed.

"You have done well," she said, skull-helm disguising the feigned sincerity of her words. He could have done better, but his enthusiasm (and more importantly, his dedication to secrecy) must be preserved.

"Noted," he said. "But revealing the source of this Dust would be-"

She cut him off with a slice of her hand. "A pointless endeavor. I was not being disingenuous with you all those years ago." Leaning forward, he returned the crystal to Tyrham. "To the best of my knowledge, you hold the only Dust sample in the entire galaxy."

"My Lady?" Sister Mwatabu interrupted, stepping forward with a sideways glance at the towering Magos. "My Sisters still fight. May I be released from your presence?"

The Lady Inquisitor bit down the indignant bile that climbed up her throat at the Hospitaller's insubordination. _I must remain calm_. _I will not show the Magi anything that could be misconstrued as a flaw._

"Begone, Sister. Leave immediately." She said, her voice thin enough to make the Hospitaller shiver in her power armor. She retreated, before departing entirely. _Another outburst like that… _She shook her head, purging herself of the though. The Lady Inquisitor switched tracks.

"Magos Prexius," she called, "how fares my Representative?"

Instead of the insectoid Magos, Yang answered in the form of a shrill, howling scream. In a second, the Lady Inquisitor was at her friend's side… or what was left of it. Prexius had pinned aside the flaps of meat that used to cover her insides, while a tangled host of surgical mechadendrites and whining apparatuses stitched together the weeping red mess within. Yang wasn't awake, thank the Emperor, but she screamed all the same.

Unyielding vices bound her limbs, and they groaned under Yang's impotent thrashing.

"Her resilience is… quite unique," Prexius said, her angelic face pristine and sweatless. A long tongue leaked out between grinning teeth to lap at her upper lip. "But the damage is quite extensive."

Frowning, the Lady Inquisitor stretched her fingers, reaching out over her friend's face and swallowing it whole in a gauntleted palm. Closing her eyes, she reached out for Yang's mind. Staggering pain greeted her, so strong that it leaked a snaking trail of blood from her nose.

In response, she flooded Yang's mind with images of Ruby, of Remnant, of the Emperor and Holy Terra.

The screaming stopped. _Thank the Emperor_. The Lady Inquisitor sniffed, and her helmet washed away the blood that seeped into her mouth. Still no touch of chaos within Yang's ruined body or heaving mind.

_But I've been wrong before. _Ranshu and the Boy-King was a sour footnote in an otherwise spotless record, something that ate at her sleep and sowed doubts within her. _Can I ever trust her again? If I treat her differently, will she be pushed even further from me? From the Emperor?_

"Preliminary work is almost finished," Magos Prexius chirped, sticking a panel of needles into Yang's wrist. Above it hung a knotted rope of tubing, each one filling with multi colored fluids. "How else might I… assist the specimen?"

"Bionics," the Lady Inquisitor said. "Repair what you can. Anything you cannot, replace it entirely."

"I've already imagined several improvements," Prexius replied, nodding enthusiastically. "I shall save discarded tissue as well… to think what kind of they could do for my research!"

The Lady Inquisitor waved her hand. "It will not aid you overmuch, I think," she said. She'd shared the secret of Dust and Remnant's brand of folding technology with Tyrham, but it wasn't biology keeping Yang from perishing - it was her aura. Enlightening Amat about it had been necessary, but it was an incredibly delicate subject to broach - telling anyone else would be a liability.

"Your opinion has been noted and saved in triplicate," Prexius said. "Now that she's stopped her squirming, my work can truly begin. Worry not, Inquisitor. In a short time, the gifts of the Omnissiah will bless her flesh."

"Add nothing else without my permission," the Lady Inquisitor said.

Tyrham strode over from the table, circling the surgical bed Yang splayed across. The hem of his robe swept across the floor, licking at the Inquisitor's heels.

"Augmentations are expensive," he supplied, three of his eyes meeting hers. "Though cheap compared to your fortunate arrival." Chittering in binary, he sent his techpriests scurrying away, to the far corner of the lab. "Suspect the journal was not your only reason for visit. Neither was my craftmanship."

Echoing the Magos, the Lady Inquisitor waved her guard away, ordering them to attend their Captain. It was time to talk earnestly.

"Before we negotiate anything," she said, "I wish to partake of the wine you have brought me."

Bowing, Tyrham gestured towards the bottle, next to which stood a single glass. Stalking over to it, she flicked the cork away, and filled the waiting glass with red nectar. Tyrham did not notice the trembling of her armored fingers. With pneumatic hissing and a puff of steam, her skull-helm came undone. She removed it, instantly meeting her lips to the glass.

She drained it in seconds, filling her mouth several times over and gulping. It was delicious. Aged to perfection. How Tyrham obtained it, she would never know. The Lady Inquisitor filled her glass once more.

And again.

Sighing, she set the bottle aside, which sloshed in half-full disappointment.

"Let us be frank," she said, sitting down on the proffered chair, and placing a hand on the crown of her helm. "I believe hiding nothing will help us both." _A facade._ _Tyrham has more secrets than I care to dream._

"Agreed. Served us well last time. Let us recount the current balance," he said. The Lady Inquisitor nodded in acquiescence. _Even among its rouges, the Mechanicus does so love its lists._

"Assistance of the Lady Inquisitor in purging cultists," Tyrham said. "A service speedily rendered. Dissuaded the Council of Magi from investigating my affairs. Provided superior genetic material for my skitarii and Prexius' research. Provided a sample of 'Dust', a confounding yet potent substance. Provided schematics for efficiently folding weaponry. Lucrative for expensive personal contracts and clandestine agencies. Is my recollection incorrect?"

The Lady Inquisitor shook her head, strands of sweat-stained ivory falling in front of her eyes.

"In exchange, I transferred Iota-Rho-Eleven to your service_. _Upgraded his bionics. Upgraded your bionics. Added several. This includes a secondary heart, reinforced lungs and augmented skeletal structure. Upgraded your inferno pistol. Upgraded the Dust-alloy weapon 'Myrtenaster'. Provided bionics for kasrkin wounded in defense of Uriel. Upgraded their hellguns to cycle faster at lower energy cost. Is my recollection incorrect?"

Once more, the Lady Inquisitor shook her head. "Your recollection of the past is perfect, as expected. But we need to discuss the present. And the future as well."

He stooped low at her words, his hidden face sinking to meet her own. The Lady Inquisitor fought off the desire to wrinkle her nose at the stench. The Magos did not smell bad, just… uncanny. He reeked of ozone and oil, of holy unguent and powerful incense.

"The future?"

"The future," she confirmed. "But the balance has shifted, and I find myself in a far more dire position than twenty years ago." Admitting such a thing was normally suicide in negotiations… but the Lady Inquisitor had spent forty years running the Schnee Dust Company, and forty years in service to the Inquisition. Her tactics were foolproof. _Pique his interest. _"But I bring a wealth of treasures with me." _Bait the hook._

"Treasures?" Tyrham asked, his voice level and flanged.

"For both you and Magos Prexius." She raised her hand before the Magos could inquire further. "I assure you they _are _treasures." _Bait it well._

Tyrham considered that. "Magos Prexius as well?"

She nodded. _When a liability presents itself, push it hard. _Her father's words were returning to her, as they always did. The wine called to her.

"Very well. Count the balance," he said.

"Most notably, I have shaken the forces that assail your Workshop. Even now, they flee in droves, soon to be speared upon the Imperial Guard waiting outside your Forge. I promise my support in cleansing the rest of Uriel of taint as well… all in your name, of course." She leaned forward, looking into the eyes of her helm before boring into the Magos' robed back. "And I bring a wealth of intact Dark Eldar artifacts."

Magos Tyrham stood straight, bringing himself to his full height. He turned, shock exuding from him in the form of whirring processors and a hiss of binary.

"They include seventeen splinter rifles, twenty-one splinter pistols, six power knives of Commorragh make, three of them master-forged, three of them standard kabal issue. I've also secured two darklight lances, one blaster, and ten pairs of hyrda gauntlets."

Silence ruled the laboratory, only Prexius' whirrings echoing against the silent tables and radiant blue pods.

"As for armor, I have secured seventeen whole sets of Commorragh-crafted kabalite armor. Four other sets are damaged, one of them severely so. I have acquired sixteen intact wychsuits, three of which are damaged, two of which are ruined."

The Lady Inquisitor grinned.

"As for Magos Prexius, you would be delighted to know I've obtained their owners as well, some of them more… coherent than others. They include twenty-six deceased kabbalists, most having suffered grievous damage from lasbolts. Twenty-one of them are male, five of them female. They also include seventeen wyches, although they are decidedly more damaged than their kabbalite kin."

For effect, the Lady Inquisitor decided to indulge herself in another two glasses of wine before continuing. _After business is concluded, I must sincerely thank him for the thoughtfulness._

"But I have more than just bodies. Their leader is alive but crippled, and in my custody. One of his lieutenants is alive, similarly impaired. Beyond that, I have captured two others, who are under unrelenting guard."

"Live eldar?" Magos Prexius squawked. "And from Commorragh no less? Praise the Omnissiah!"

The Lady Inquisitor fed her smile with yet more wine. "A bounty, to be sure. I would prefer these items disappear quickly, however. If they linger in my possession, questions might arise." Setting the glass down silently, her smirk vanished.

"But I desire a great deal from you as well," she said. "You have saved both my Representative and a member of my kasrkin guard. You will be outfitting her with the best available bionics. You are currently helping me investigate Josephus' history and intentions."

_Start small. Nudge the door open._

"Such efforts are unequal to the proposed agreement," Tyrham noted.

"I also ask for seven of your most exquisite servo-skulls for my own purposes. I wish to contract you for your personal craftmanship as well." To clarify, she plucked a data slate from her satchel and slid it across the table to rest before Tyrham. He scooped it up, long fingers wrapping around the hard plastic.

"Forty-two subroutines suggest this is an attempt at humor."

"I assure you it is not.. But it is not the last thing I ask of you… nor the last thing I offer."

_Confidence. Surety. Never relent. Not for a moment._

"Inquisitor?"

"I ask you to take your leave of Uriel… temporarily of course. Though this was my intention far before I arrived at your Workshop, your assistance in hunting down Josephus is no one-and-done task. I must have that journal decrypted, and I trust its contents to only you." _Ensnare them in their egos._ "And I need that project completed in under a year's time. Time I cannot spend ferrying myself or representatives to Uriel. This will ensure total privacy should you wish to investigate the artifacts I recovered, as long as you agree to discuss the results with me."

Magos Tyrham did not respond, but his arms rested on the table, reaching down from within his robes to rest unsteadily.

"Most importantly, I believe Josephus is searching for an artifact. He's investigated significant resources into its recovery, resources that could have made a much greater impact elsewhere."

"The Chariot of Salvation," Tyrham blurted, his neck snapping upwards. Rustled from the speed of his outburst, his hood fell away, revealing his head. Besides the six protruding orange eyes and intricate mask, his head was a tangled, writhing mesh of shifting cables, obscuring all humanity but for a set of perfect white teeth engraved with Mechanicus script.

The Lady Inquisitor smiled once more. "The Chariot of Salvation?"

"Recurring theme in the journal. Decrypting more as we speak, but…" he trailed off, long legs striding and pumping as he paced. "Its nature is unknown. All that remains to us is its name, given to us to by the ancient Mechanicus during the Great Crusade."

"Even in the greatest of ages, they couldn't find it?" The Lady Inquisitor asked.

"No. No no. You do not understand. Even then, knowledge of the Chariot was fragmentary, piecemeal. Now it is even less so. A whisper on the lips of the Omnissiah. Many explorators have fallen into non-functionality in its pursuit. Breakdowns. Erroneous feedback loops."

"They go insane," the Lady Inquisitor provided.

"Yes. Probability of this causing Magos Hagai's descent to ruinous powers: ninety-eight point nine-four percent."

The Lady Inquisitor scowled. "Is his chances of finding it any better?"

"Probability of its existence is," Magos Tyrham paused, the words that tumbled from him halting suddenly. "statistically negligible."

"Tell me all that you know of it."

"The only phrase personally encountered is the following passage from an ancient databank buried deep on Holy Terra, recovered in M34.435, dated to approximately M30.111: _It is the Omnissiah made silvered flesh, pure knowledge, wrought in its most awesome form… it is the Chariot of Salvation_." He shook his head, and returned his hood to its original place of rest. "Imperial Saint Totha investigated the matter further, but found little else of note. Aside from that passage, there are is little more than four kilobytes of reliable data on the subject. Most is incoherent. What can be deciphered is similar to the passage itself: vague metaphors and obscure imagery."

"This is troubling news," The Lady Inquisitor said. Had she spent the past six months chasing a monster who himself was chasing little more than binary ghosts? W_hat if it is no myth? What if the ruinous powers help him uncover it? Josephus is often linked to the All-Knowing, the Master of Lies and Magic. Tzeentch. _The accursed name curled her lip, and her aura flared in solidarity.

"And what about the journal then?" She asked. "Did Josephus succeed where Totha and ten thousand years of inquiry failed?"

Tyrham said nothing for awhile. "Cannot say. Besides the author, dates, and the Chariot, the remainder of the journal will take significantly more time to decipher. Extremely well-protected," he adds. The Lady Inquisitor's hand wrapped around Myrtenaster, tucking the precious weapon into her belt.

"Very well," she said, keeping her voice level and even. "Then until you have it deciphered, think upon the proposed exchange."

Tyrham replaced his hood, realizing it had fallen. "There is no need. I accept the terms provided. No matter what is contained between the pages, I stand with you, Inquisitor."

It took a concerted effort not to recoil from the suddenness of it all, and the Lady Inquisitor could only gaze at the Magos, attempting to find his unseen angle, the part where his winning out cost her dearly. There was nothing.

Slowly, silently, she extended her hand to Magos Tyrham, five fingers in ivory armor and silver filigree. He accepted the offered hand, shaking it once.

Prexius' tools bit into Yang once more, and the sound of grinding meat filled the laboratory.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter, Yang awakens! Let's hope everything goes smoothly for her... Oh, and for those who aren't too familiar with W40k, The Chariot of Salvation is an OC thing, so don't think you're missing out on what it is!**

**As always, be sure to drop a review! I love hearing from you guys, and the past few chapters' responses have been incredible! You guys are the best!**

**Review Replies:**

**tankbuster626: Might be a good idea...**

**Rickmer: He's an OC character, so everything about him is contained within this fic!**

**Absolute Configuration: Hope Myrtenaster was worth it!**

**redcollecter: As I said, next chapter!**

**Darkerpaths: You have good foresight... hahaha!**

**LordGhostStriker: Nope!**

**555814: Praise Saint Alfabusa!**

**robyork.1690: Thank you!**

**Guest: Glad to hear it! That's a feel I know all too well...**

**snoogenz: Well, she's like that in canon! XD**

**OBSERVER01: Thanks so much for all your reviews! **

**Dark Knight Gafgar: As this chapter highlights... **

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Glad to see you too! :D**

**soupie13941: Now that would be a fuck-up indeed...**

**Quelthias: He's an OC, but Uriel uses a biblical system of naming! Josephus was actually a Jewish priest, but in here, his name is derived from Joseph McCarthy!**

**OnyxIdol: Thank you!**

**ATP: Hopefully this answered your questions! Prexius isn't trying to be sexy, she's trying to "perfectly" merge the extremes of both human and the Mechanicus, which resulted in her current... form. Can't answer anything about Remnant at this point in time...**

**The Flippant Writer: Thanks so much for giving this a try! You raise some good points, and I'm glad to see some people looking critically at my work. Seriously though, thanks for the review! I really appreciate hearing your opinions and speculations!**

**Kiyoushu: Hope you enjoyed Myrtenaster's new look!**

**Nemris: You just might! ;) Glad you enjoyed the chapter so much!**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Now that would certainly be a sight to see...**

**antisnipe: I know about the felinids! Can't say too much about Blake though!**

* * *

**A/N: Alright, until next guys! Keep up these awesome reviews!**


	46. Awakenings

**A/N: One of my favorite chapters! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

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**Chapter 45: Awakenings**

"_In one's life, as one ages, some moments remain clearer than others." - "The Laughing Titan", a Ultramarines Librarian in his popular treatise 'Reflections Upon a Life of Service'_

Yang didn't know where she was, but she hated it already. It was like a hospital, if hospitals were even creepier than they already were. Empty tables surrounded her, encrusted with purple-red crystal, discarded tools scattered about their surface.

Groaning, she blinked and tried to rub her eyes. But when she brought her arms up, a seizure of pain ripped through her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. As the agony ebbed away she looked down at herself. _Oh fuck._

Lifting her weird robe-y hospital gown, she found a mass of scar tissue rippling across her stomach, reaching up towards her breasts and around her back. It was white like lightning, and just as jagged. Slowly, carefully, she ran her fingers across it, feeling the smooth ridges. She swallowed a mouthful of bile.

In her arm sat a tangled rope of IVs, running up and down its length and pumping her full of unknown chemicals. None of them defaced her shoulder glyphs. Looking at the bags that hung above her, she couldn't make sense of the words that stretched across their plastic faces.

_I'm alive._

Not only was she alive when she should be dead, she was free of taint, and her dreams were peaceful and arcadian. When she closed her eyes, she could still recall bouncing golden braids, and sunny yellow eyes. Comforting, somehow.

Looking at her hands, she saw they'd been scrubbed clean of the blood and viscera that stained them.

_It's more than I deserve._ Like a bursting dam, a rush of images struck her, screaming, panicked cultists and the feel of her fists crushing the life from them. Sighing, she leaned against her table. An uncomfortable sensation scratched at her mind. Yang felt like she should be nauseous, but the sensation was weak and faded like a death gurgle.

And Ros was gone.

Only then did she have to fight the tears, struggle to not break down and submit. _I failed her. I failed. I failed._

That she had descended into a warp-fueled frenzy made it all the worse. _Is that all that stands between me and damnation? It's that easy? _It had been a matter of _minutes_. Any longer, and she knew that the warp would have claimed her soul.

Activating her aura, she basked in its comforting warmth and the bubbling light of her hair. It offset the damp and ocean-trench blue of her surroundings, bringing as semblance of humanity to the twisted instruments and deadened air.

Twirling a lock of gold between her fingers, she sighed. _Without my aura, I'd be lost._ Yang never thought she'd imagine grimm to be such a pitiful threat, but in the face of Chaos, the black-furred beasts seemed childish and insignificant.

_And they don't exist in the Imperium._

Was she still in it? Did Weiss try and save her, or did she bleed out? Or did the Inquisitor cut her losses and put a bullet in her brain? _Did I die… again?_

"Gah," she said, trying to speak and finding her mouth far too dry. Looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, she hoped she was still in the Imperium. The conclusion she'd reached on the _Ascendant Dawn_ all those months ago still hadn't changed - she'd burnt her bridges, claimed her stakes. Meeting Weiss only confirmed it: Remnant was dead to her, and she to it, no matter how much she wanted to go back.

Her destiny lay within the Imperium, whatever it may be.

The thought made her frown. Destiny didn't sound like a word she'd use. For a sick second, she imagined Weiss rooting around in her mind, leaving latent impulsions and purging any 'impurities' she might find.

She shook the thought away. Nothing seemed out of place. Somehow, she knew her friend hadn't fallen that far. A metallic skittering startled her from her thoughts. The sound echoed across the room, lonesome and hacke-raising.

"Hello?" She asked, trying to sit up before wracks of pain stilled that notion in its infancy. "Fuck."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," the echoes said.

"Trooper Yang Xiao Long, you awaken," a voice called out from behind her. It was spritely and feminine. A pent-up breath leaked out of her nose, and she closed her eyes. _I'm still in the Imperium._

"Doc, is that you?"

A red-robed woman slithered behind her before leaning over the table to meet Yang's eyes. She was stunning, a vision of pure porcelain skin and full, smiling lips. Silken black hair spilled out from her silver-framed hood, tickling Yang's cheek.

"Hey there beautiful," Yang said, trying to muster a smile. The woman tittered, eyeing her as a spider eyes a fly. It sounded like the kind of 'laughter' that came pre-packaged in Atlesian androids.

"Forgive my rudeness," she replied. "I am Magos Ada Prexius, and this is my laboratory. I'm afraid I need to ask you a series of questions."

"Ask away, Doc," Yang said. She was no stranger to hospitals (or laboratories, apparently), despite her hatred of them. "I know the routine. But can I call you Ada?"

Prexius tittered once more, covering her grin with a gnarled mess of needle-fingers. Yang's smile faded. The magos slid into full view, a massive segmented centipede body protruding out from underneath her voluminous robes, bristling with baroque instruments.

"Aw fuck, I regret everything," Yang said. _Why? Why me? Why does she have to be a creepy mechanical centipede-person? But above all else, why am I not surprised?_

"Is there an issue, child?" Magos Prexius asked. Yang shook her head shamefully. "Very well, let us proceed: how much do you remember?"

"Everything. Including what put me here."

The Magos made assenting noises in a strange chirping language, nodding and making notes on a large dataslate. "And how do you feel? Is there any pain?"

Yang grimaced and swallowed. "Yeah. I'm okay though. You seem to have me on the good stuff. Where is your lab, by the way? Are we still on Uriel?"

"We are indeed," Prexius said, wearing a soothing, beatific smile. "You have the honor of inhabiting Master Tyrham's workshop, in the center of his Holy Forge."  
"And how long has it been since I… since I was shot?"

"One point oh-seven months standard."

Yang fell back against the table, letting loose a long sigh. _Golden Throne_, _that's a long time. I hope Caolin, Mael, Theni and Asgeg are okay._ The thought of her friends brought another smile to her face. _I remember their names, their faces. I still care._

The thought was a relief, but it recalled images of Caolin, his tears rolling down his cheeks and drowning her whole.

"Worry not," Prexius said, ducking under the table and emerging with some diagnostic instrument. "I've done my best to keep you in top physical condition during your extended sleep. In the midst of my other, infinitely more fascinating duties."

Considering her apparent area of expertise, Yang didn't want to know what those were comprised of. "Thanks… I guess. Did Weiss order all this?"

"Whom do you speak of, child?"

"Sorry," Yang said, grimacing at her slip of the tongue. "The Lady Inquisitor. Did she bring me here?"

Magos Prexius bowed her head in reverence before leaning forward, brandishing her instrument. She smelled like preservatives and noxious blood. "She did. Now recline, child," she cooed. "Let the diagnosticator perform its function."

Yang obeyed, still wondering why Weiss saved her. An insignificant prick of pain stabbed into the crook of her elbow as Prexius inserted a needle-pointed finger into it.

"One moment, child."

_Can I still be an Inquisitor? Is that what Weiss really wants from me? Does she want to study me or something?_ The idea sprouted goosebumps down her arms. _Am I tainted… forever?_ When the Inquisitor spoke of Chaos, it didn't seem like something she could recover from.

"Can I speak to her?"

"The Lady Inquisitor? Certainly. Though word of your awakening will take time to reach her. Currently, she is aiding General Campbell in cleansing the last of the rot from this world." Glancing at her wrist, she gave Yang a pleasant smile. "No signs of physical or mental contamination. Your body is reacting well to the implants as well. No signs of host rejection."  
"What."

Magos Prexius cokced her head, hair rustling within her decorated hood. "Your internal organs were severely damaged, some beyond repair. Hyper-functioning replacements have been installed in their place, in order to assist and enhance your bodily functions."

_I'm… a cyborg? Damn. Amat fucked me up pretty bad. _Made sense though. Once more, her hand caressed the long, spider-web scar. _As long as nothing was replaced that didn't __**need **__replacing._

"You do good work, Magos," Yang said, trying to grin. In all honesty, it looked a lot better than some of Remnant's bionics, scarring included. Prexius returned it glowingly, a pair of mechadendrites clacking together. Almost as if she was preening. "I need to be on my feet as soon as possible, so let me know what's gonna make that happen." She knew the routine.

The Magos' grin widened even further, revealing more of her weird but captivating teeth. "Your attitude is commendable, child," she replied. "A true soldier. A true Cadian." She paused, turning to conceal her face as she tapped absentmindedly on her dataslate. "But you're not Cadian, are you?"

"Uh… nope," Yang answered, now wary of the Magos' intentions. The uncomfortable note of savor had returned to Prexius' flanged voice.

"I thought not. Your genome doesn't match the profile," the centipede-woman said. Or any profile in my databanks, for that matter. Curious, curious curious. Although you do contain several polymorphisms displayed in cultures with strong martial traditions. Convergent human evolution, but on a scale once thought impossible."

Yang sat up, swallowing the pain that screamed at her, begged her to sit back down. "Please, Magos, spare me the techno-babble. I'm happy you're… fascinated or something, but I need to know what you put in me. I want to recover as soon as possible."

_And do what_? _Do you think Weiss is just going to let you back in the fray at the drop of a hat? 'Sure Yang, have at 'em?' _She snorted. What Weiss would 'let' her do and what she _would_ do wouldn't always be the same thing. _She's right about_ _one thing though, _she thought, recalling the last time they fought. _I need to dial it back. _'It' was still a nebulous concept though. Something she didn't want to think about right now.

_I wish Ruby or Ros were here. _The thought stung.

"I'm sorry, child," Magos Prexius said. "My fascination with flesh is a long and storied affair." _Could she possibly __**be**_ _any creepier?_

"Uh, it's fine. I've just been out for a month, ya know," Yang said.

"Of course. Such a long break from my work would be inexcusable. As for your bionics, your stomach and right kidney were replaced completely."

Yang almost skipped a breath, but nodded instead. This wasn't unexpected, considering her last conscious memory.

"The replacement systems are much more efficient. They also possess poison filtration suites, which synergize nicely with your liver… which also needed replacement." Noticing Yang's paling face, she pursed her lips and tried a reassuring smile, which came out… wrong. "Worry not, child. The flesh of the Omnissiah is strong. Though your own body is resilient beyond most predictions, His touch is that of perfection."

Yang nodded dumbly. "Anything else?" She asked.

"Your small intestine suffered extensive damage. Not severe enough to warrant complete replacement, but still significant. I've repaired the damage to the best of my ability. A colostomy bag won't be necessary."

"That's… uh… good to know," Yang said. _Note to self, never piss off Amat._

"Barring minor spinal reconstruction and neural reconnection, that sums up the rendered services," Prexius said.

"Services?"

"The Lady Inquisitor was very insistent that you receive the best bionics. In fact, when negotiating further cooperation with my Master, she included such a stipulation in the contract." The Magos giggled again, covering her smile with a ghastly hand. "Perhaps I've said too much."

Yang laid a hand against her stomach. _So she does care. Maybe. In her own way. It sounded like she did everything she could. _"And what do I have to do so I can get back to my unit?"

"Nothing outside regular physical therapy. Maybe even less, with the excellent care provided," Prexius answered.

"Wonderful," Yang said, wearing a half-grin. "Now get me a wheelchair. I wanna see your labs or something. I'll go insane if I'm forced to just lay here."

Maybe not the brightest idea, but the oldest Remnant-stained urge had reasserted itself - _explore, seek, adventure_. Despite the undeniable creepiness of Prexius' lab, she was curious. Outside of wandering throughout the _Ascendant Dawn_, Shao-la, and Vadiik's lectures, the Imperium's finer details avoided her. She'd mostly been confined to blood-soaked battlefields.

_Exploring a little more should help me deal with… everything. _

"I _am_ allowed to leave, right?" Yang asked tentatively. She held her hand up when Prexius met her question with a nonplussed stare. "Don't worry Magos, I won't run off on you. Just curious if the Inquisitor left any special instructions."

"No no," Prexius said. "Nothing like that. She did warn me that you might be restless upon your awakening. Though she did instruct that you were to do nothing further to jeopardize your health.

Yang groaned. _Sounds just like Weiss._ She smiled. _It sounds… exactly like her._ "Fair enough, Magos," she said. "Let's see your lab." Sure it was probably full of horrific shit, but she refused to lie down and do nothing. "And I could use some food. Hell, I'll take anything you got." Her stomach rumbled. "You do have… food right? Being Mechanicus and all?"

Magos Prexius chuckled. "Of course, child. I shall call for some. But first…" She chirped another strange noise, summoning a squad of chuffing servitors to her side. With fluid, practiced precision, they gently rescued Yang from her table, setting her in a motorized wheelchair.

Hissing with pain, she accepted their help, careful not to put too much weight on her wounded torso. Settling down, she bit down the agony and worked her lips, while the servitors attached her IVs to the back of her chair.

Prexius made a note in her dataslate.

"The Lady Inquisitor informed me you were instrumental in acquiring some of the most fascinating samples to date," she said, her body clattering as it sidled up next to Yang's.

"I don't remember collecting any samples," she replied. "Not of anything you'd be interested in, that is."

Tapping a selection of buttons on her dataslate, her grinning face was illuminated by a series of vats, each of them glowing ocean blue, each of them hosting an eldar corpse.

"You'd be surprised, child."

Yang's face contorted, and she felt her knuckles tighten around the arms of her wheelchair. _The same fuckers that took Ros_. The mud and blood-flavored memory did not sit well with her. At least the ones with heads looked like they died in sufficient agony.

Their bodies were incredibly well-preserved, missing only small sections of precision-cut tissue, probably for sample taking. A few of them sprouted needles, and one was splayed open, the xenos' innards displayed for Prexius' probing. Wheeling herself closer, Yang traced a hand along one of the tubes.

"These are not quite like their craftworld kin. These are Dark Eldar - xenos born and raised in the dark city of Commorragh," Prexius said, sending a probe to peel back a layer of skin on one of the female corpses. "Much more physically resilient."

"Wait," Yang said, pivoting her wheelchair. "Craftword? Commorragh?"

"Yes, quite!," the Magos said, gesturing to the cadavers, "Of all the foul xenos that lurk in the galaxy, the eldar are among the most fascinating. At some point during their history, they split into two distinct factions. Billions cavort in their colossal worldships, while billions more inhabit the twisted city of Commorragh."

"And that's where these ones are from," Yang said, staring into the corpses' tar-pit eyes.

"It is a nightmare realm," Magos said, tapping a few buttons on her dataslate. With needled fingers, she gestured the wounded trooper over to a sealed tank. "And _this _is what it spews forth."

Churning servos and whirring metal revealed another eldar… though this one was no corpse. Immersed in the same blue fluid but with an oxygen mask concealing chapped lips, this one squirmed and twitched, his black eyes bright and full of fear.

"Emperor," Yang whispered.

"Yes," Prexius said, her lips split into a hungry smile. "A very generous donation from your Lady. He shall be an excellent source of data. The Imperium knows very little of Commorragh… only that it is hidden far beyond our means, and that no human has been there and returned. They drag their captives there, and they're never heard from again."  
Yang didn't want to hear any more. She turned away from the alien's desperate clawing, never wanting to see another one. Well, one that she wasn't about to splatter into a thin paste with Ember Celica.

_Oh shit, Ember Celica! _

After frantic looks at her wrists, she spun her chair around to find the Magos wearing (or trying to wear) a comforting face. "My gauntlets," she asked. _Demanded. _

"Are in a safe place. Their machine-spirits are… restless, but now properly assuaged."

"Machine-spirits?" Yang demanded, wheeling closer. She wasn't in the mood to deal with the Imperium's technological idiocy. "Look lady, I… appreciate the effort, but I'd feel a lot safer if I had them with me."

A different voice answered her.

"With all the trouble you had getting into that chair, I think those weapons of yours would be little more than a deadly pair of handcuffs."

"Amat!" Yang cried, beaming. Shuffling down the laboratory steps, he approached them, a silver tray in his hands, his rifle across his back. He still hadn't left his sleek, form-fitting suit, and he'd donned his mask again.

"Magos Prexius said you were hungry," he replied. "I brought something."

Yang scoffed, but said nothing else. She found words difficult to say. Or, rather, there were a lot of things she wanted to say, but their order was a tangled mess. Out of the knotted phrases in her mind, there was only one that sounded sufficient.

"Thank you. Not for the protein-gel," she said, nodding at the the covered tray. "But you know… for everything," she said, studying his boots. When she looked up, the assassin merely shrugged.

"My mission was to eliminate you if you fell to chaos. You hadn't fell."

"You're a big softy, assassin-man."

"Greetings, Assassin," Magos Prexius said, inserting herself into the conversation with a nod of her head. She slithered closer to Amat, studying him from every angle while Yang's eyes grew dangerously narrow. "The Lady Inquisitor instructed him to stand his watch, even while you slept. Today, he is finally of use."

"And," Amat said, ignoring Prexius' chittering legs, "this isn't protein gel."

_What._

"The gracious Magos keeps a selection of more… palatable foodstuffs for visiting dignitaries. Inquisitors' retinues included," he continued, stepping closer.

_No way. _Yang's tongue darted out between dry lips, her eyes now _very_ focused on the platter Amat carried, and the silvery tarnish of the lid that concealed her meal.

"Amat, if you tease me any more I swear to the Emperor I will do something... " she couldn't think properly. The last real meal she had eaten was on Woadia… it had been nothing but gelatinous Guard rations and occasional nibbles of stale bread since then. "I don't know… but it'll be violent."

"I shiver with fear. Perhaps you'll strangle me with your hospital gown," he replied. Yang laughed, a sound that echoed in the stifling, corpse-filled laboratory. _It seems he's grown more of a spine in the past month!_

He unveiled her meal, a burger of unknown meat that sat in the center of steaming potato slices and a side of leafy greens. Yang couldn't keep herself from salivating.

"Eat slowly, child," Prexius said. "You might need time adjusting to your new stomach."

She'd already eaten half of it, choking down the simplistic goodness like she was starving. It was the best thing she had ever eaten.

"Slowly, Yang!" Amat exclaimed, backing away from her. "I haven't even set the tray down!"

She said something that may have sounded like 'shut up', but her mouth was too full of food to make sensible words.

"It can't be that good," the assassin said, brushing off bun crumbs from his tight-fitting cat-suit. He'd been caught in the splash zone. "I've survived without such frivolities for my entire life."

Yang stopped eating. "You _what_," she demanded, ignorant of the grease now staining the lower half of her face. "I bought the whole mind-wiping thing, I bought the hypno-sleep, and I bought everything else. I don't like it, but it's certainly plausible. But now you tell me they didn't even _feed_ you properly? How the fuck do you look like…" she waved her hand at him, words failing her once more.

"Like what?" He asked, head tilted.

"Like that!" She replied, huffing. "Well, it ends today. Here." she said, pointing to her plate. "Have my fries."

"Yang, I couldn't possibly-"

"Child, your diet has been-"

"Stow it, you creepy worm-lady," Yang snapped, silencing Prexius with a pointed finger. "And as for you, assassin man, you are going to eat real food, and you are going to _enjoy_ it."

There were no more arguments.

"Well… thank you, Yang," Amat said, once more removing his mask to reveal his face. Though his beard was still unkempt, his eyes looked less gaunt and sunken. He looked healthier, like he'd slept sometime in the past week. He looked good.

"No problem," she said. "They're too greasy for me anyways." _A blatant lie,_ Yang thought, smiling.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for your patience! Things have been busy on the 'life' side of things, and starting a new Quest on SV hasn't helped.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I feel like Yang's trying very hard to avoid thinking about Ros, which will be touched upon next chapter, hence why it didn't appear too much in this one. Next chapter also features the return of Palatine Naja... _WITH A VENGEANCE!_  
**

**As always, I'm excited to see what you guys' thought, so please be sure to let me know! :D****  
**

**Also, HOLY GOD EMPEROR YOU GUYS! 1,000 REVIEWS! You guys are the best! Thanks so much for everyone's continued support! I love you guys! **

**Review Replies:**

**Inquisitor Azreal: Funny how she loses an arm in canon shortly afterwards, huh? XD**

**tankbuster626: Yeah, she'd need a lot more damage done to her before she'd qualify for Dreadnaught-hood!**

**ZalrokCSoulDeath: I'll give it a look sometime soon. I'm crazy busy these days...**

**Absolute Configuration: I'm glad you like him so much! He's admittedly pretty baller.**

**Quelthias: That would require knowledge some would deem... _troublesome..._**

**theblacklightprojekt: What makes you say that?**

**Dark Knight Gafgar: She mentioned it before she left!**

**Hypothetical Spiritual Entity: Something like that might happen sooner or later...**

**blaiseingfire: Oh he already got his, my friend.**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Nah, I figured she'd take things in stride. The alternative is death, something she patently doesn't want.**

**haha oh hehehe: Not quite... Imperial/Mechanicus healthcare is actually _crazy _good if you have the resources and ability to obtain it.**

**Redcollecter: Well, it'll be really goddamn hard to poison her now, that's for sure!**

**snoogenz: All things considered, Yang got pretty lucky.**

**OBSERVER01: Huh, an interesting theory! As for Ember Celica being a part of her body, it's not likely to happen. No reason to fix what ain't broke.**

**reality deviant: Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Kiyoushu: Hahahaha holy shit that's great. And yeah, Myrtenaster needs to be a bit beefier if it wants to survive the Imperium...**

**Rampant Poultry: Aw, you're too kind! Thanks so much for your kind words!**

**Hefster: Hey, those are some interesting theories! I wonder what you'll make of what I have...**

**ATP: Yeah, right now, Sorcerors doing anything of the kind is extremely unlikely.**

**LordGhostStriker: Oh Yang would _love_ that.**

**LUrky: Thanks so much! No word on the Necrons right now, except that I actually really like them as a faction.**

**Nemris: Glad you enjoyed it so much! The Chariot's actually pretty important though, it'll come up again later...**

**Jack Inqu: What an interesting theory! ;)**

**Kaeni: Oh Emprah that would be awesome.**

**soupie13941: A very interesting choice of words... Hope you enjoyed Yang's reaction!**

* * *

**Thanks again for all your support. If you guys weren't so awesome, we wouldn't be here right now! Keep 'em coming!**


	47. We'll Go Places

**A/N: Updates will probably continue to be bi-weekly, at this rate... Sorry everyone! Hope you enjoy regardless. :3**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 46: We'll Go Places**

"_It is no small thing, to bare one's soul to another." - Opening line of 'An Account of the Forty-Second Millennium'._

Yang watched Amat eat the food she'd so generously provided, her smirk widening with each passing second. It wasn't everyday you got to watch someone experience solid food for the first time in their life. He started out hesitant and wary, teaching himself how to chew. Then, his eyes widened, and the fries disappeared one after another, with ever-increasing speed.

When he finished, he looked at her. Leaning back as far as she could without incurring pain, Yang sighed in smug satisfaction.

"Oh that's weird… I was right about something. Crazy, that," she crooned.

Amat's lips widened in a pleasingly roguish half-smile. "Still as arrogant as ever," he said. "But, yes. Quite surprising. It's… very different."

Yang finished the last of her food, preening all the while. "Stick around, assassin-man," she said.

"I plan to," he said. "It's my job, after all." He paused, inspecting the final slice of potato that she'd given him. "She told me of Remnant, you know."

"W-The Lady Inquisitor?" Yang asked, incredulous. Did Weiss actually tell Amat about their homeworld? "Hey, Prexius," she said, turning to the Magos. "Time for you to go bye-bye." The worm-lady burbled something unintelligible before reluctantly scurrying away. "Weiss told you about Remnant?" She asked Amat again.

The assassin nodded, and Yang couldn't help but notice a certain enthusiasm to the curt motion. _He liked what he heard_, she realized. The thought was warming. Heart-wrenching.

"Much more than that," Amat said, his eyes flicking over to Prexius' retreating carapace. "She _showed _me. I saw everything." He smiled, brightening like stadium floodlights, and the Magos' lab seemed a little less oppressive. "Vale, Forever Fall, Atlas… your sister... She was incredible. You all were. Blessed _Emperor_," he breathed.

Yang smiled, but she couldn't bear Amat seeing the tears that flowed into it. She pulled him close, trying not to sob into his shoulder. _I'm stronger than this._

_But not when it comes to Ruby, _another part of her said.

"I'm sorry," she said, whispering. "Seeing someone… like you… seeing you so excited about Remnant, it's just… it's hard, okay?"

Amat said nothing, stunned by the bandage-clad woman pressed against him. "I… I'm sorry," he tried. "This is… very unfamiliar. What am I supposed to do?"

A watery chuckle. "Just hold me or something, dummy," Yang said. "Hell, anything'll work. I'm pretty shit at this kind of thing too."

He obeyed, pressing her head into his shoulder, his fingers sifting through her mass of golden hair.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," Yang said, surprised by her answer. This was uncharted territory for both of them. "It's not your fault, promise." Breathing deep, she centered herself, let herself bask in the warmth of her aura. As always, the crackling power afforded by her connection to the warp swelled her soul to monstrous levels, but she clamped down on its excesses, withering it to a hearth-fire that warmed her heart and dried her tears.

They separated.

"Sorry buddy," she said. "In case you haven't figured it out, it's tough talking about my sister."

Amat grimaced, a shudder shaking his broad shoulders. "Weiss… _my Lady_ suffered as well, but coped in a different way."

"You could say that," Yang said, frowning. "What did she show you… about me?"

"Nothing too incriminating," Amat assured her, his brow furrowing as he sorted through his thoughts. "Not that I could see."

"Alright. To be honest," she paused, face contorting. "...I don't remember much of it myself… what happened after my sister died, I mean. I didn't reach out to anyone. Tried my best not to think of her. Of _anything_. It wasn't healthy. At all."

"My Lady fared little better, I assure you." _Not surprising._

"But yeah," Yang said, clapping his shoulder, an attempt at returning to the brighter mood of a few sparse minutes ago. "Remnant huh? What'd you think?"

"It's…" he took her hand in his, then dropped it. Yang giggled. He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed it. "It's rather incredible. But you know that, of course." A subdued laugh escaped him. "Better than anyone else. I had... no idea people could _live _like that."

"The grimm?" Yang asked, confused at his excitement regarding such a stomach-turning concept.

"What? Oh, no. If anything, that was the most normal thing about your homeworld. Death planets are a lien a dozen." He looked confused for a moment. "Lien? Oh yeah." He shook his head. "No, no, everyone just seems so… _happy_. Well, before Cinder, at least. I had no idea."

Yang grinned at Amat's new-found attitude. He seemed a different person than the shimmering Angel of Death she met in Shao-la… but also the same. _A side effect_, she realized. _Weiss has been playing with his mind for much longer than for just a look at Remnant._ On one hand, she felt grateful. She undid some serious mental scrubbing, but the degrees of manipulation required…

"And what about the faunus?" Yang asked. The xenophobic nature of the Imperium left much to be desired. _Would Amat be any different?_ She found herself hoping he would be. Instead of a reply, he waved his hand dismissively, puzzling her.

"Abhumans at the worst," he said. "Your world had strange concepts about speciation. The faunus wouldn't be liked," he said, reading the curious upturn of her eyebrows. "But there's so very little separating them from humans, they'd find a place for themselves without much effort. My thoughts on the matter, at least," he admitted. "Doubtless some bureaucrat in the Adeptus Administorum would see it differently."

"Well the Adeptus Administorum is full of assholes."

Amat nodded. "I can see why you say that," he said. "From what I've seen, your friend Ms. Blake Belladonna is an extremely capable agent. She would be a welcome addition to the Lady Inquisitor's retinue."

"Hey," Yang admonished with a grin, tapping one of three studs above his eye. "You watch yourself, Amat, she's a married woman!" He retreated slightly, confused at her tone. _Damn straight._ _You better stay confused, assassin-man._

"I'm aware. I saw her wedding, after all."  
"Weiss showed you her wedding?" Yang asked, bewildered. _Why on the Emperor's Golden Throne did she do that?_

"The Inquisitor showed me most of her previous life," he answered. "I've spent these past few weeks puzzling it out. Meditating. Painting. Praying. It's helped... sort things. It was like a whole other galaxy, packed tight into one small planet." He paused before looking up at her, his eyes piercing like bladed yellow crystals. "You knew nothing of the Emperor. Of Holy Terra." Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath. "The Imperium… it must have been such a shock, coming here… after living _there._"

"It's been a struggle," Yang breathed, relishing the ability to talk so openly. Even social conversation with Weiss felt like a mountain-side hike on an eggshell path. "I've seen Him, by the way. When I reach into the Warp."

"Really?" Amat asked. "What's He like?"

"He's really… bright."

They shared a chuckle. "You know Amat," Yang said, smiling. "I appreciate this. Talking about home. It makes things," she waved her hand aimlessly, "easier. I didn't mean to break down earlier."

"You're fine, Yang."

"It doesn't happen often. Or ever."

"I… actually understand. When I think back to when I first met you, I can't imagine all this was in your head," he said. "You were just… different. I knew you were a psyker, but it wasn't that. I don't know. My vocabulary's pretty limited for stuff like this."

Yang patted his head. "You're doing a good job so far." Shrugging off her mock patronization, Amat dipped his head, cheeks reddening.

"I meant that literally, you know. Words were stripped from us, an attempt to control our thoughts."

Yang sniffed, wincing as a dribble of pain leaked in from her wound. "Yeah, I wish I could be a little more sympathetic about it. But that kinda shit doesn't surprise me any more."

"It's not a bad idea," Amat said, shrugging.

Now _that _was surprising. "You're defending that? Amat, what the fuck?" Locking eyes with him, she was expecting to see a cool defiance, maybe the beginnings of rage. Instead, she found only bleak, watery sadness.

"We are raised as the perfect assassins. We didn't need to know what it's like outside the Temple. Outside of regular duties. I am perhaps the first to have a glimpse in… Emperor," he breathed. "Centuries, at least. We live and die at our posts, and are happy to do so."

"And what about you, Amat?"

"I… I don't know." He sighed, and his even-handed facade cracked for a moment, his fingers reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "My headaches are gone. But Weiss.. my Lady… she's barred me from returning to the Temple."

_Good_, Yang thought, a derisive sneer curling her lips. It died when she saw the tears forming, the ocean rising up to swallow the setting hazel sun. "Amat?" She asked, pleaded.

"It's all I've known, Yang. I am _Vindicare_. Every minute of my waking life since I can remember was spent in training, in prayer, in preparation. I don't regret a moment of it, but I've seen so much more of the galaxy, thanks to my Lady. So much of Remnant. She showed me the truth. Of what, I can't be sure yet. But she took away something I didn't know she could."

"Amat…" Yang said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. Easy, buddy. Shh."

He grimaced, and for a moment, the only sound in the laboratory was the rustling of her IV drips, plastic and wires a soft echo against the press of equipment. "The galaxy's been turned upside down," he said.

Silently, his fingers clasped around Yang's forearm, a small, unconscious squeeze of thanks. It warmed her, bringing a sad smile to her face. "Amat, I know this doesn't mean much, but I'm glad you're here. With me. With Weiss. If it wasn't for you, I might've been in a very bad place. I'd be a lot lonelier too. The Inquisitor is a very different person from Weiss Schnee. I knew her when she was seventeen... for the first time. She had crushes on boys. She fell in love with my sister. We baked her the first birthday cake she'd ever had. Here…" Yang trailed off, and memories of Jala Prime surfaced, an entire world consumed in cleansing fire. "But that's not her anymore. She's suffering. I don't trust her. I can't, not fully at least." The final admission of it made it real, surfacing in the form of a bitter, choking lump. "But I know she wants the best for the Imperium. I don't know enough to do anything about it, but she does."

"I know that," Amat admitted. "I've followed her for four years. I know what she's capable of. It's… awe-inspiring. But it doesn't bring me much comfort. And she doesn't know I've been instructed to kill Inquisitors who attempt to keep Vindicares on their retinues permanently."

Yang shook her head, "Sorry bud, but she does. She's read your mind a thousand times, and she wouldn't have barred you from the Temple if she thought you'd carry out your orders." A sad smile. "You're stuck with us."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Amat asked. "I pray everyday, but the Emperor's wisdom escapes me."

"Hey," Yang said, cupping his chin. His beard was bristled and coarse. "What did I say? Stick with me. We'll go places. Even though that might not mean much coming from someone you almost had to put down."

"I tried, but you're a stubborn woman." They separated with a small chuckle. "I know nothing of the warp, or what it's like to hear its call. When I found you though, you looked… so broken, I knew what you said wasn't a lie. May I ask… what happened?"

Yang's fingers gripped the arms of her wheelchair, white knuckles shaking with the sudden onslaught of memory.

yang please

"Yang," Amat said, reaching out.

"No," Yang said, gritting her teeth. "You need to know." Steeling herself, she looked up at Amat, noting the curiosity burning in her friend's eyes. _At least Weiss' tamperings haven't dulled that._

"The first friend I made in the Guard was a woman named Ros. Now, I was excited to leave Woadia. Explore the Imperium, you know?" Yang said, smiling weakly. Amat nodded. He knew. "She wasn't. She'd been torn away from her husband. From her…" Yang took a deep breath. "From her child. I promised to protect her. The same promise I… t-the same promise I made to Ruby. That'd I'd protect her. Bring her home."

"The Dark Eldar," Amat realized, his lips pursing.

"Ros was wonderful, Amat. Not the most approachable person, but she _cared_, you know? Cared about the platoon. Every single Woadian. She missed her husband every hour of every day. Then they took her, and I was too slow. I _watched_ them take her away," Yang said, nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm until they shook. "She's gone. I failed her. I failed her kid. She's gone," she repeated. Amat said nothing, choosing instead to readjust a few of the IV lines plugged into her wrist. They'd gotten tangled. "It's Ruby all over again. I lost her twice. _Twice_, Amat."

"Yang…" Amat said, stooping in front of her, unsuccessfully searching for the violet of her eyes. She'd already buried it in her hands.

"No," Yang said. Meeting his gaze, she wiped her eyes for a final time. "I'm done. I fucked up, I over-committed. I have to move on. From Ros… from… from Ruby," she added, almost choking on the words. It felt like she was ripping her soul out, iron fingers digging into her stomach-scar and tearing her new-metal guts loose. "We both saw what wallowing got me. What happens when I don't keep a lid on things." She sniffed. "You did a good job, Amat."

Amat sighed. "A proper Vindicare would have completed his mission," he replied.

Still sniffling, Yang gave him a playful slap on the side of his head, a twinge of pain echoing in her stomach from the jolt of force. "Don't say shit like that," she jabbed. "Weiss can take the Temple from you, but she can't take away what they taught you." She didn't like their teachings at-fucking-_all_, but she couldn't watch Amat suffer. A thought struck her. "Like my sister, you know? She left, but I don't regret a moment spent with her. Move on? Yes. Forget? Never."

"I… you're wise beyond your years, Yang," Amat said, hanging his head.

"You saw what we went through. I had to do a lot of living in a short amount of time. We all did."

"I was no different, I suppose. I can't even remember when I left the Schola. Twelve? Thirteen?" Amat ran a hand through his hair. "This is normally when the headache starts."

"Not today?"

"No, Yang. Not today. Thank you."

They shared a brief smile.

* * *

Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al-Ibanhi was furious. It was a good fury, one that filled her veins with scorching, consecrated blood, let her bellow out her war-cries and hymns with righteous furor. Roaring, she brought her eviscerator upwards in a vicious arc, striking a cultist with imperious force. He split in half, his head screaming and thrashing before a stray bolter round burst it apart.

"Know fury!" Naja bellowed, her terrible vox-enhanced voice echoing against the war-torn streets of the Forge. "Know death! Know hatred!" A bullet smacked off her pauldron, fired from a trench of scrambling cultists. "Sisters, to me!" She called out, summoning her comrades to her side. Gesturing to her attendant, she snarled ruefully. "Eleven! Purge them!"

"So shall it be, Palatine," the enormous Sister rumbled, pivoting to wash the heretics in a pious salvo. A bloodstained grin stretched across Naja's face, fuelled by the hymns of Sister Katarina and the loyalty of Sister Eleven, her spirit set aloft by the act of war in the Emperor's name.

A sliver of black streaked past the corner of her vision, accompanied by the crackling hum of a force sword. The Lady Inquisitor struck her target, an explosion of force that split apart a squad of heretics. For a heartbeat's glorious thudding, her Master was visible, an angel of death wrought in onyx and silver, wreathed in a flapping cape. Then she was gone, a swarm of severed limbs pinwheeling over her head as they showered their attacker with blood.

"Onwards, Sisters! Rollanders!" She cried, looking over her shoulder. She would not be outdone by the Inquisitor. The advance of the Guardsmen's vehicles was crawling but effective, a wall of steel that thundered death before them. Shortly, the last Forge would be purged, and Uriel would be cleansed of taint.

With a cry, her sisters sprinted after her, the bloodstained white of their robes slapping wetly against ceramite power armor.

"Yes! Yes!" Naja cried. "Ever onwards! Ever upwards! For the Emperor!"

A blasting cry from an Eloadian tank sent the trench up in flames, spewing broken heretics and rusted mud. Naja dashed down the war-torn street, leaping over artillery craters and plowing through riven barbed wire fences that lined the pavement.

In front of her lie a swooping citadel, one of the Magos' workshops. It was infested with cultists, and was the beacon of resistance for the beleaguered and shell-shocked forces of the arch-foe. Under the Inquisitor's leadership, General Campbell and the skitarii became a murderously effective machine, purging kilometer after kilometer, Forge after Forge.

Naja sneered as she plowed into a hastily-constructed pillbox. _The witch does the Emperor's work well! _Heaving, her eviscerator cleaved six apostates, its teeth spitting their foul blood across the rockcrete walls. _No doubt to make up for her sins_, she added, hurling her sword into the last survivor. It pinned him against the shallow wall, and ground into him with throaty exuberance. Throttling the trigger, she waited until he slumped over dead.

A screaming heretic dove into the pillbox. Leaving her sword for the briefest of moments, she ducked under the hail of reactionary lasbolts, diving forward at the traitor's feet. Crunching his heels between her fingers. She swept him off his feet and fell back upon him. His spine snapped like a brittle twig.

Retrieving her sword, she burst out of the pillbox and worked herself into a blinding sprint. She was just in time to see Sister Victoria crash into the heretic trenches, the young sister's power hammer bellowing out thunderous claps of crackling death as she battered the heretics into a red gruel.

A screaming, titanic cultist emerged from a support trench, bellowing and slapping at his blasphemy-marked chest. A two-handed chainaxe purred in his hands, spiked and bloodthirsty. _Their champion_, Naja breaking stride, Victoria adjusted, throwing herself at the threat with a joyous cry.

The Champion swung, but he was too late. Victoria spun under the strike, ducking low before bringing her hammer around to crash against his twisted armor in a decisive, two-handed strike. A shower of gore was all that was left of him.

Mission Thanatos threw their fists up in a cry of elated solidarity, one that drowned out the pitiful wails of their foe.

"Glorious!" Naja cried, dashing forward to aid Victoria with the Champion's hangers-on. "Well struck, Sister!"

Victoria's eyes, framed in a enraptured, bloodstained face, shimmered wetly. "Thank you, Palatine!" She said, the warble of joyous tears staining the cry of thanks. Naja smiled. _Still so young, and so talented. _"What is your will?"

"We must keep pace with the Inquisitor!" Naja answered, pointing at an explosion of gore some fifty meters to their left. Though the ivory-haired maiden was hidden in the depths of crude, charge-blasted trenches, her progress was too easy to follow - a shower of gore rained down behind the occasional flashes of blue, painting the gutted road with smoking blood.

Above them, the roofs and windows crawled with red-robed ants, skitarii long rifles barking as they rained down a hail of death upon the heretics' reserves. Naja waved her contingent forward, unable to contain her scarred smile. _Witch though she is, the Inquisitor's skill is… commendable. Admirable, even_. Never before had Naja been saddled with such a capable warrior.

"Sister!" Victoria bellowed, pointing. "Beware!" By the swelling steps to the Workshop's opulent front gates, a squadron of tanks crashed out from their concealed positions, treads clattering as they hurled themselves into the fight. The cordite-choked air was split with cannon-fire, whizzing rounds plunging into their targets. A few of the heretic tanks burst into towering infernos, but many more shrugged off the assault, promised deaths ringing off their armor and sailing off to impact against the bulk of the Workshop. The Rollander armor suffered from the surprise, their heavier armor splitting and spewing panicked crewmen.

Growling, Naja refused to be intimidated. "No matter, Sisters! Onwards! Use the trenches!"

Amidst the exchange of cannon-fire, a chorus of heretic bolters opened up, spraying the street with explosive rounds. They tore into the Mission's advance, spraying up clouds of dirt and chunks of corpses.

Sister Victoria cried out as a bolt struck her in the arm, rending the limb from her body and sending her tumbling into a trench. Naja cried out, reaching out for the young woman.

But then the world was noiseless, and soaring far beneath her. Naja spun through the air, dimly aware she was doing so. It had happened so fast. Then, agony struck her as she tumbled across the battlefield.

She cried out to the Emperor, and came to skidding halt. Her ears rang, the glorious song of war suddenly little more than a whispered prayer. Gripping her eviscerator, she dug its point into the pavement. Where was her Mission? The Inquisitor?

Sister Victoria was visible enough, stumbling onwards with blood pumping from underneath a twisted pauldron. Her hammer still crackled, carving a deep furrow into the earth as she dragged it along.

"Emperor," Naja hissed, trying to stand. He would not aid her in this matter it seemed, as she crashed down onto the pavement once more. Wiping blood from her lips, she crawled onwards, before finding an outstretched hand waiting for her. A mumbled voice. A woman.

She was calling out something. A name?

_My name!_

The war returned, in all its thundering glory.

"Palatine!" The hand's owner bellowed, from behind her baleful skull-mask and shining ebony halo. "Stand firm! The Emperor is with us!"

Naja's eyes seemed to betray her. The Inquisitor stood before her, dripping with gore and radiant in the Emperor's glory. Though one hand reached out for Naja's, the other held up a spinning night-black glyph. Struggling to stand, she gaped as cannon rounds and bolter shells slammed into the glyph, striking the circling runes but remaining undetonated.

Taking the Inquisitor's hand, she looked up at her Master. Though she couldn't see the woman's face, Naja knew it wore a gentle smile. Her master hauled her up, the servos in their armor whirring with strain.

"You've done well, Palatine. Now consolidate our forces, I shall be along shortly."

"My Lady-" Naja said, reaching out for the Inquisitor. But she was ignored with a swish of her ebony cape. Letting out an indomitable roar, the Lady Inquisitor unleashed her glyph, turning the collected rounds against their owners in a blizzard of steel and crashing cordite.

She drew her sword, a sliver of night given physical form. Readying it at her side, the Inquisitor hissed a prayer, and the weapon glimmered, the etchings upon its face glowing a calamitous, glacier-melt blue.

Then, the Inquisitor was gone. She appeared a moment later, among the heretic tanks. A slash of cobalt, and the foremost tank was shunted aside, a gaping, glowing gash in the front of its hull. She wasn't even wielding it with her hands. The force sword shot between glyphs and rubrics, a blinding bolt of lightning that struck through several tanks at once.

Naja hustled forward, wholly enraptured. This. _This_ was the Lady Inquisitor, unbound by all but her love for the Emperor.

Sister Victoria marched on, her feet tripping over each other as she panted irregular, uneven breaths.

"Suppressing fire!" Naja bellowed, slicing her free hand at what pockets of heretics remained. "Bounding!" She dashed forward, scooping up Sister Victoria in her white-robed arms. "Sister Mwatabu!" The Hospitaler was on her in a second, flying through the air as she vaulted over a roadblock. She weaved and dodged through the crackling return-fire, wholly in her element.

"Palatine," Sister Victoria croaked, pawing at Naja's weathered face. "Look. Look at the Inquisitor."

The Lady Inquisitor destroyed yet another tank, leaping into the air before plunging down upon it, spearing the turret with her sword. It cleaved through the rolled steel like a chainsword through flesh. A pillar of flame erupted around her, but she emerged unscathed, leaping through the crackling flames, a prisoner in hand.

She dragged the yowling, smoldering cultist to the front of the Workshop steps. Summoning a storm of eldritch energies, she flung the body into the air. Naja's neck craned as she watched its ascent.

The heretic burst apart, rent into a cloud of pure, silvery snowflakes. Once more, blood thundered through Naja, and her fury returned to her.

"Look at her, Palatine. She's… she's glorious."

"Yes, Sister Victoria," Naja answered, the words tumbling out of her. "Yes she is."

* * *

**A/N: The Sisters of Battle are too fucking cool. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Also, do note that this story's "RWBY canon" is significantly different from what went down in S3 of RWBY (as the story began shortly after the conclusion of S2). Here's a brief version of the differences: Yang didn't lose her arm, and Pyrrha got the Fall Maiden's powers and lived until she was about 35-40. Penny still died. :(**

** I really enjoy your guys' thoughts on each and every chapter! Thanks so much!**

**Review Replies:**

**Absolute Configuration: Prexius didn't get too much into it, but now Yang knows there's a difference.**

**blaiseingfire: And on that day, the Eye of Terror shrunk to the Sphincter of Fear.**

**theblacklightprojekt: She still has both her arms!**

**tankbuster626: I wonder how bad you thought it was gonna go...**

**Rampant Poultry: Glad you're enjoying their interactions! Hopefully you enjoyed this one too. :)**

**reality deviant: Planning on it! **

**Jack Inqu: Sage advice, my friend. Thanks for all your reviews!**

**Guest: I guess she didn't see much of a reason to, since Yang's aura was what saved her, not her squishy bits!**

**Kamzil118: Hehe glad you liked it!**

**mewtwo15026: Glad you enjoyed it! Also, thank you so much! I _knew_ 'colonoscopy bag' was wrong, but I didn't exactly want to trawl through google to figure out what the correct term was... **

**OBSERVER01: What an interesting theory! **

**Quelthias: Agreed!**

**Kiyoushu: Not enough leather!**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: He's gone through some stuff, that's for sure.**

**ATP: Thanks so much! The more conversation-centered chapters are a little more difficult to write.**

**lordcrion: Oh hey, thanks so much! I spend a lot of time into working on my OCs, so I'm glad to see they're appreciated. Hope you're enjoying your return to the Imperium!**

**Nemris: I thought that, for a world with readily available bionics, Yang moping about her arm was a liiiitle dumb. Glad you're liking Amat!**

**Malletmann: We talking Pyrrha, or Salem?**

**Gafgar: Ohoho, guess we'll find out, won't we?**

**alienvx0: Yeah, I figured that event wouldn't exactly make it back to some bumfuck Forgeworld on the other side of the galaxy... hahaha**

**A Flying Tomato: Now with 1000% less heresy! hahaha**

**Telron: Hey, thanks so much! **

**soupie13941: Hope you enjoyed the Palatine! :D **

**RAGA: I love getting reviews like yours! It always surprises me that people who know nothing about Warhammer enjoy this story so much! You'll get her Platoon's reaction in an upcoming chapter. I'm especially happy to see you're enjoying all the OCs! They're a big part of the story, so it's nice to hear some positive feedback. :D **

**LuckyFractal: I won't lie, it is pretty frustrating to see most of the top-reviewed RWBY crossovers to be shitty Naruto harem fics (though I can't say for certain that's what they are, the writing's too bad for me to get through any of them). Though I guess people like what they like, and I can't judge them for that. I will say though, I really appreciate how much you're enjoying this story. It's a blast to write, but it sucks away most of my free time, so I'm really happy to see you enjoy it so much. And stay tuned in! I'm sure you'll enjoy what's coming up...**

* * *

**So many reviews! You guys are the greatest! :D Up next... A MAION CHAPTER! :D**


	48. The Destiny of the Tou'Her

**A/N: Time for more of the Tou'Her, everyone!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 47: The Destiny of the Tou'Her**

"_Il-Kaithe is, and forever shall be, a bulwark against the whims of the Dark Gods. And we, the Tou'Her, are its vanguard, our souls resplendent." - Mirodir, Patriarch of the Tou'Her. _

Maion sat on the steps of the Shadowed Sword Shrine, basking in the serenity of its surroundings, of the warming blood-red sun that sank into the horizon. Even though her exterior was calm and subdued, her blood roiled with childish excitement. And although her war-mask remained dormant, the Autarch's promise of such an exclusive mission sang to it, calling it to the surface of her mind.

_I will don you soon enough._ Uncle Obsidian was leading the expedition as well, a thought that stretched a smile across her face. Outside of the occasional coordinated raid, she hadn't seen him in twenty passes. He belonged to the Plummeting Strike Shrine in mind, body and soul.

Running her fingers through her ruddy hair, she tied it behind her head, binding it tight against her scalp. Just minutes ago, Elladar had sounded out through the Infinity Circuit, calling her to readiness. Looking at her helm, she grinned. _Once more, I join the hunt._

The eyes were red as rubies, gleaming sanguine in the dying light. A thumb caressed their scowled edge, relishing its polish. Flanking the base of the helmet were the hidden weapon of the Striking Scorpion: her mandiblasters. Setting down the precious piece of armor, she examined the chainsword that lay across her knees. _Her_ chainsword.

Holding it up to the sun, she whispered a brief prayer to Kaela Mensha Khaine, Bloody-Handed god of War. The sword's monomolecular teeth were sharpened and ready to kill, to prowl across the galaxy with her.

"Maion_._"

Her exarch. She turned to face him. Outside of his armor, he was little more than a withered warrior, old wounds stretching across his limbs like brambles across a forest. His eyes bored into her, their disapproval blatant and unshielded. Maion sneered, shifting to face the setting sun instead.

"Exarch Nellaphar," she replied, "I hope you are not here to forbid my participation in the coming hunt."

His broad shoulders heaved as he stepped forward. "Just like the spawn of Mon'Keigh to blindly accuse and redirect," he said, spitting his words like an insect spits venom.

"Then what are you here for? To wish me good fortune?" Maion laughed at that, the notion too ridiculous to consider seriously. "No, I suppose you have another agenda."

"I merely wish to warn you, Maion," Nellaphar said, brow twitching, a brief glimpse at the mask of hatred he'd buried under a veneer of toleration. "Do not shame the Shadowed Sword during this mission."

Maion chuckled, a sound muddied with contempt. "Me, Exarch? Shame the shrine?" Even this bilious relic couldn't crush her good spirits. "When the time eventually comes for another to wear the mantle of Nellaphar, I will still be here. This place is my life. My Path is forever chosen."

"You cannot mean-" he started, stepping forward.

"I have not been swallowed by my war-mask, no." _My aura would never allow it_. She let her soul billow and roil within her, soft black clouds caressing her, reassuring her. "I am Tou'Her. I _choose_ my Path. I choose to be here, even while all of your faces are forever twisted in contempt and disgust. I am stronger than all of them." A grin split her face, and she met his drilling, boring gaze. "I will not shame the shrine, Exarch. But you are the embodiment of a thousand lives, countless passes of wisdom, experience, and martial prowess. Do not debase yourself by harassing me."

That elicited a snarl from Nellaphar, his weathered features twisting, contorting. "Your arrogance will be the death of you."  
A tree's shadow stretched across the steps, reaching out to Maion, calling her to her duty. Looking up, she saw Elladar waiting for her, dressed in a simple green and purple stola.

"Farewell, Exarch," she said. "The hunting horn has sounded, and Il-Kaithe needs me. The spawn of Mon'keigh." Touching the shadow, she vanished, reappearing in the misted air near Elladar. She landed deftly before securing her weapons with several magnetic clasps. Bowing at the distant, slack-jawed Nellaphar, she turned on her heel.

* * *

"You are unwise to taunt your Exarch so," Elladar said as they neared the mustering grounds. Maion glanced at him. The travel here was spent in amicable silence. _Why does he speak now?_

"It is not the first such exchange we have shared. Nor will it be the last. Mother always told us to be as kind and genial as possible, to invite no hatred upon ourselves or our household."

Elladar said nothing at first, and for a moment, only the sound of the lift filled the air. "That did not strike me as a genial conversation."  
"I have been under Nellaphar's thumb for many passes. At long last, my patience for his needling is waning." She sighed. "Still, I should keep Mother in mind."

"She sounds... wise," Elladar offered, still looking down the swelling hall instead of meeting Maion's gaze.

"She was," Maion replied, recalling the halcyon passes spent under her tutelage. "But sadly, she is lost to me and the Tou'Her. Before conferring leadership onto my elder brother, she left on the Path of the Outcast, and lost herself upon it."

Elladar considered that, his robes hissing softly, rippling with the speed of their passage.

Coming upon the gate to the mustering fields, Elladar sighed, holding up his hand. Heeding the signal, Maion stopped, the echoing calls of their footsteps crashing against the towering wraithbone before dying away.

"I go no further," he said. "Lossamdir will inform you of your mission's specifics. Obey him in all things."

"I shall."

"And Maion?"

"Yes, Autarch?"

"I have staked much of my reputation and what I suspect to be the fate of Il-Kaithe on you and your family," he said, resignation weighing down his purple-fringed shoulders.

"Why?" Maion asked. Elladar had done her and the Tou'Her a great service, but in her excitement to begin the hunt, never questioned his motives. _Grandmother would've chided me for that one._ "Why me? Why us?"

"I heard the Soul-Wielder speak, just before her disappearance. Her presence on Il-Kaithe was always controversial, but the council of Autarchs once entertained her request for an audience. It is my shame to admit that I was younger then, and did not want to allow her even that." His head hung at the words, his lips pursed in blatant, genuine regret. "Her words moved me, when I was old enough to appreciate them. She saw the galaxy for what it truly is, and the Eldar for what we are. You said it best, Maion: the Tou'Her are not circuitous."

She smiled, resting a hand on the arm of her Lord. But he was not finished.

"I've lost so many to the decay of our kind," he said, his teeth baring for a single salt-stained moment. "Friends. Family. My life-companion. Hundreds of passes, thousands of passes, millions of passes, and nothing has changed. Today, this cycle, it ends. Do Il-Kaithe proud. Bring yet more honor to the Tou'Her, and perhaps one day the rest of our benighted kind will open their eyes."

"I pray for that upon every cycle," Maion said. "For myself, and for the eldar."

"Go, and Khaine be with you."

Maion entered the mustering hall, craning her neck to take in the tall ceiling. She always preferred large, open spaces. Settling her grinning gaze on the rest of the Hall, it was abuzz with activity. On the flanking wall, bonesingers and runesmiths prepared the colossal wraithknights, showering the titanic war machines in pulsing runes and reinforcing its ancient hull with war-song. Against the plain metal floor rang hundreds of feet, poets, artisans and performers in the midst of Guardian training. Their huffing, red-stained faces brought a satisfied smirk to Maion's face. Though Nellaphar was an ass, she agreed with him in that Il-Kaithe needed to prepare itself for total war. Judging by the countless panting voices that rang out towards the distant ceiling, she knew that today was the day Elladar and the other Autarchs gave the order.

_It is no mystery why he looked so fatigued_.

"Maion!"

"Uncle?" She turned to face the voice but found only a squad of Howling Banshees enjoying a preparatory meal. Impossible. Her senses were sharp and acute, honed by passes of training in the Shadowed Sword. Nothing escaped her.

An arm fell across her shoulders, and she almost flattened in surprise, ready to strike out at her attacker. Instead, she found the toothy trickster's grin of Uncle Garnet.

"Really, Uncle?" She tried her best to sound exasperated, but his waggling, expectant eyebrows made such a task impossible. She giggled instead, pulling him into an embrace. The dark, glossy violet of his Warlock armor met the dulled matte-green of the Shadowed Sword.

"It's barely been three cycles since we last spoke," he teased, gunmetal eyes glinting underneath a carefully mussed head of short onyx hair. "Tell it true, Maion- have I become your most favored Uncle?"

Shaking her head, she broke apart from him, punching him in the shoulder. He rubbed at the strike, his face twisted as though she had wrought upon him the most grievous of blows. The Banshees behind him tsk'd, wagging their tongues at their behavior. Maion ignored them.

"Hardly," she said. "But Elladar said nothing of your involvement! I never dreamed I'd get to fight alongside you."

He waved his hand, his fingertips glowing gold with the light of his soul. "Such is as fate designs, a million threads with a billion outcomes."

"Elladar asked you, your Farseer master said no, and you ignored him."

"Ah," he said, clasping at his heart. "Your accusations wound me."

"They're not accusations if they're true," a new voice said. Maion's grin grew even wider.

"Truly, the two of you conspire against me," Garnet wailed, burying his face into the newcomer's ample, armored cleavage. "Lyllawyth," he asked, reaching forward to caress his paramour's sultry, angular face, "why must you betray me? Does our love mean so little to you?"

Lyllawyth laughed, a clean and spritely sound. Her voice was like a white-frothed river, honed by the many passes spent as one of Il-Kaithe's most popular operatic performers. "I think your time upon the Path of the Actor has done you much wrong, my Love," she said, filling her hands with Garnet's ebony-red hair.

"It is good to see you, Lyllawyth of the Gardens," Maion said, bestowing a polite nod upon her Uncle's lover.

"I am of the Gardens no longer," she replied, resting her hands on her hips. "As you can see," she said, looking down at her slender, armored figure, "Il-Kaithe needs me in the ranks of the Guardians for now."

"War is here," Maion said, smiling.

"And it is fitting that we say our farewells upon the Mustering Grounds," Garnet said, buckling an elegant cameleoline cape to his shoulder. "One last tear-stained farewell."

Lyllawyth chucked, gracing him with a chaste kiss upon his cheek. "You said your goodbye adequately enough last night, my Love."

Garnet flushed, rubbing the back of his head. Maion rolled her eyes.

"For such a barbarous lot, you make excellent lovers," Lyllawyth whispered, running a finger across Garnet's chin. "Quite energetic," she added, smirking playfully.

"Lyllawyth, please," Garnet hissed in embarrassment, attempting to retreat within his cameleoline hood. "My niece is right there."

Maion could only laugh.

"Come on Uncle, we must not be late. Obsidian is waiting for us, no doubt."

Garnet sighed, red-tinged mirth seeping away from his cheeks. "He was always the dour one," he grumbled. "Very well," he said, straightening with a dramatic flourish, "we must away on our quest!" He announced, with a stately turn towards Lyllawyth, who giggled at the display. "Farewell, my love!" He pulled her into a passionate kiss, in utter contempt of the Hall's somber atmosphere. Maion looked away, along with several others observing the display. Unlike the others, she grinned.

Surfacing for air, Garnet turned abruptly and departed, waving after Maion. "Come, scion of the Shadowed Sword, the threads of fate await."

Shaking her head, Maion went to follow him, when a tug on her wrist halted her.

"Lyllawyth?" She asked, turning to the new guardian.

"Maion, your uncle..." she paused, a hint of trepidation surfacing in her sapphire eyes. "We are to be bonded upon his return."

"Truly?" Maion asked, inhaling sharply. "I know you've been together for many passes, but-"

"Keep him safe. His warlock training has just begun. I... I fear for him."

Maion hugged her soon-to-be aunt. "I shall. We are Tou'Her, and we will persevere."

"Thank you," she whispered, returning the embrace. "He is arrogant and foolish without me to mind him."

Maion smiled once more. "He'll be safe."

With that, she left, jogging to catch her Uncle's loping strides.

"You are a fool," she said when she reached him.

"She told you, then?" He asked, his lips upturned in a knowing smirk. "What a shame. It was to be a surprise."

"You are a fool to have made her love you," Maion said. "You will be naught but trouble for her."

"Then things shall not be so different as they are now," he replied, dancing around a squad of marching Reapers. "Alas, but I am impossible to resist."

"Just don't be so flippant with-" She was too late, as they had arrived at the rallying spot, a docking terminal with a mismatched war-party loitering at its gates.

"Brother!" Garnet exclaimed, launching himself forward to smother Obsidian's smaller frame. Beauteous wings stretched from her other Uncle's back, and they flapped in confusion. Maion's hand met her face.

"I am no longer your brother... _Garnet_," Obsidian said, almost snarling his brother's name. "I am Lossamdir - Exarch of the Plummeting Strike Shrine."

"Mother would be so disappointed to hear that," Garnet said, totally unfazed. "Oh, how her human blood would boil!"

The gathered warriors cringed at Garnet's careless jesting, but Lossamdir could only summon a derisive snort.

"Woe upon the day I was forced to occupy this accursed body," he added, shifting his weight in an attempt to dismiss his former brother.

"Exarch," Maion said, dipping her head in respect.

"At least this one has her manners," the Exarch grumbled. "Though if I am to be saddled with more of Obsidian's kin, I am pleased this one is of the Shadowed Sword."

"Nellaphar sends his... warmest regards," Maion offered.

"Very well," Lossamdir said, turning to face the assembled war party. "These are the warriors selected by the Autarch to participate in this highly atypical endeavour."

Maion bowed gracefully, appraising each of her new comrades. There were ten in all, outside of the Exarch, Garnet, and herself. Three of them were her uncle's charges, Swooping Hawks with their majestic and puissant winged armor. Two were Dark Reapers, their artifice armor devouring the light, their red Reaper Launchers thrumming with murderous intent. Three were Howling Banshees, their long swords hanging across their cream-colored backs. The final two were Dire Avengers, stout and resolute in their blue carapaces.

"It is an honor to meet your acquaintance," Maion said. Most nodded in rueful acceptance. One of the Swooping Hawks did not, however, meeting her stare with unyielding crimson eyes.

"Hmph," he said, crossing his arms. "This mission is rank with Mon'keigh spawn. It's unfortunate that my Exarch must suffer their kind as a host, but now I must fight alongside even _more_ of them."

Garnet stepped forward, a mocking jest burning in his throat. Maion stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"So kind of you to share your wisdom with us...?" She asked, not allowing a petulant pretty-boy like this ruin her mood. The Hawk scoffed once more, leaning his lasblaster into his shoulder.

"Asillar," he said.

"Asillar," Maion replied, smiling sweetly. "And how long have you tread upon the Path of the Warrior?"

"Seven passes," he answered proudly.

"Well, I have walked it for forty," Maion answered, "and have known but two others. I have been a Warrior before my former Uncle even considered the Swooping Hawks," she added. "Do not cast aspersions on a family as powerful as we."

Asillar paled, and the Dire Avengers tittered. They knew too well of Mirodir's prowess.

"I am sorry you are consumed by such baleful rage," he countered, "Do your best to direct it at the enemy, and take care not to strike out at us with an errant blow."

"Enough," Lossamdir rumbled. "If we are fortunate, we will not encounter the enemy." His words sent a current of curiosity pulsing through the gathered warriors. "Since the last member of our band has arrived, along with our... guide."

Garnet winked at them.

"Then," the Exarch continued, "I will explain our mission." Retrieving a smooth wraithbone disk from within his belt, he activated it. A map of the galaxy blossomed into existence, swirling blue planets and nebulae spinning into existence, each labeled with a host of runes. A rustle of armor from the war party hissed into the hall, its members intrigued by the display.

"As some of you know," the Exarch continued, "the mon'keigh Abaddon has launched his thirteenth expedition into realspace." The map zoomed into the Eye of Terror, with the addition of a large red rune attempting to bash its way through the Cadian gate. "Some of you have been involved in raids against one of his lieutenants - a monster by the name of Josephus."

Maion, the Banshees, and the Dire Avengers nodded.

"Farseer Sylvis," he said, voice barely hitching over the name, "has foreseen that among all the dangers presented to us, Josephus is the most threatening."

Asillar looked puzzled. "But Lossamdir, how is that possible?" He asked. "The forces mustered by Abaddon are... staggering. I know sheer numbers do not a fearsome foe make, but the warlord cannot simply be discounted."

"True," the exarch replied, "but far be it from me to question a farseer's wisdom. Or an Autarch's," he added. "From what our war parties have been able to gather, Josephus seeks a terrible artifact. One that could not only tip the scales in his Master's war upon Cadia, but spell doom to anyone that opposes the forces of Chaos."

"Surely a single artifact cannot be so powerful," a Howling Banshee said, leaning forward. "Servants of the Dark Gods are known to be devious and overly boastful. What makes this one different?"

"The difference, Ysdraea, is that a farseer is not dismissing his claims. And certain allies know what he seeks."

"Allies?" Garnet asked, glancing at his brother.

"The mon'keigh Inquisition has discovered the identity of Josephus' artifact, and requests our aid in locating it."

Even Maion and Garnet joined in the murmurings of discontent.

"The Inquisition?" Maion demanded. "Surely Uncle Sylvis cannot be so deluded as to trust them!" To her mild surprise, Asillar sneered in agreement.

"Il-Kaithe has," Lossamdir interjected, "in its wondrous history, often allied with the mon'keigh in order to best continue its crusade against Chaos. In this matter, it is no different."

"It most certainly is, brother mine," Garnet rumbled. "Helping their lumbering armies cleanse planets and hunting down their corrupted kin is one matter. The Inquisition?" He laughed a mirthless laugh. "It is another matter _entirely_."

"Then," Obsidian growled, wings flapping indignantly, "we are blessed to have my idiot brother along, so that his Foresight might protect us," he snapped. For a moment, none of the warriors spoke. Collecting himself, the Exarch continued. "This mission is entirely Elladar and Sylvis' doing. Though I have little faith in the spawn of mon'keigh, his Foresight and the Autarch commands respect. We will do our duty."

The warriors bowed their heads, acknowledging the Exarch's authority.

"Collect your weapons and supplies," Lossamdir said, deactivating the map and slipping it away. "We will board our craft shortly."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter might be a bit confusing for those who don't know too much about the Eldar, and while I tried to convey everything in the chapter, I realize not everyone may have gotten it, so here's a quick run-down of the relevant bits.**

**Exarchs: Exarchs are eldar that lead their Aspect Warrior shrines (shrines that honor different aspects of Kaela Mensha Khaine, the eldar war god, like the Striking Scorpions, Dire Avengers, etc.). When they become Exarchs, they lose most of their individual identity, as their soul binds to their ancient armor, joining with the souls of every previous Exarch who previously wore that set of armor. This is what Maion means when she says "when another wears the mantle of Nellaphar." That is to say, Nellaphar is the name of the first Shadowed Sword Exarch, and when he died, his successor joined with his armor and his soul, becoming Nellaphar in his place. This is also why Lossamdir voices disgust at his current form, as he is a collective identity - thousands of eldar souls and identities that are now occupying the body of a half-human hybrid.**

**War-Masks: Another important aspect of eldar culture is the war-mask. The Path of the Warrior is not, like some would assume, the Path that Eldar take when they want to defend their Craft-World or improve their combat prowess. Instead, eldar called to the Path of the Warrior are often consumed by hatred and rage, filled with the desire to murder and kill. That's not to say they're all crazed khornate berzerkers - in order to divide their personal selves from their warrior-selves, eldar use something called the War-Mask. It's the eldar equivalent of a 'war face', where they suppress the majority of their personality and emotions, all except the desire to kill in the name of their Craftworld and Kaela Mensha Khaine. This is why Maion is more subdued in her earlier appearances - she's donned her war-mask, and isn't processing things as she normally would.**

**Exarchs and War-Masks: Another important fact about the above topics - Exarchs become Exarchs when they discover that they can no longer remove their war-masks. They shortly become outcasts, unable to function in regular society, unable to find joy in anything except their duties to their Shrine. This is why many of the Tou'Her were so shocked and bereaved by Obsidian becoming an Exarch - since many of them choose to walk the Path of the Warrior out of a sense of civic duty rather than rage and hatred, many of the family are uncomfortable with what Obsidian became, and thought their auras should protect them from such a tragic fate.**

**Review Replies:**

**Telron: Thanks!**

**reality deviant: Wow, I'm blushing! You're too kind. Seriously, I really appreciate all the support you've shown me with this fic!**

**robyork1690: Nah, she was killed by Salem back on Remnant. As for the Imperium...**

**redcollecter: I don't make the SoB cool... they're already awesome.**

**blaiseingfire: I've heard "Yamat" getting thrown around on Spacebattles!**

**tankbuster626: Glad you're enjoying their interactions! I really enjoy writing them too.**

**Heitomos: True, but I feel like writing in stuff after the fact just feels wrong and cheap. IMO, it stands better as an AU.**

**Kiyoushu: Careful! XD**

**Absolute Configuration: Vindicares in general are crazy OP.**

**Jack Inqu: Hope you enjoyed!**

**The Flippant Writer: Damn, it looks I got them turned around. Thanks so much for the correction!**

**Allard-Liao: I hope you enjoyed it!**

**snoogenz: I guess it's about as relaxing as you're gonna get for the grimdark future...**

**Magnificent Bosh'tet: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it!**

**Guest: Yang would be proud.**

**Kamzil118: I mean... it was kinda the point of that section.**

**Guest: Yup, Ordo Hereticus.**

**Malletmann: Yeah, not planning to change it atm. I think this story works better as an AU anyways! :P**

**Quelthias: Hehehe would that include you?**

**antisnipe: I named a tank "The Wrath of Saint Alfabusa", you be the judge! hahaha**

**Inquisitor Azreal: Glad you're enjoying the Quest so much! I should have an update ready for you by the end of the week...**

**The God Emperor of Mankind: Thanks again for all your reviews! Let me see if I can offer some explanations/responses... A minor thing first, the Imperium doesn't have an official currency. There's too many planets with their own money and whatnot, so while some planets may have some kind of standard, it doesn't apply _everywhere_. As for the main character's 'idealism', I would say it being Mobile Suit Gundam tier is... a little much. RWBY, even with how S3 ended up, is a fairly upbeat and noblebright setting. Since the characters hail from that world, ignoring that part of them wouldn't really make them _them_. It should also be noted that while both Weiss and Yang don't really like the Imperium, they see it as the obvious horse to back in the 41st millenium. As for Yang being a 'sadist', I'd say that's also a bit of an overstatement. She enjoys violence, sure (she's very much a Blood Knight), but only revels in it when chaos is trying to get at her. If every person in the Imperium who enjoyed violence turned to Khorne, there wouldn't be very many loyalists left... Other than that, I'm so happy you're enjoying the story! I put a lot of work into it, so I'm happy to see you're enjoying everything I do!**

**cdonovan: I guess you'll just have to wait, huh?**

**RampantPoultry: Hahaha thank you! Didn't know I was that good...**

**OBSERVER01: Do you think the Lady Inquisitor would ever do something unknowingly? ;)**

**Nemris: Yeah, thank Weiss for that. He's a blank slate right now, now that all his conditioning's been wiped away.**

**Gafgar: Oh come on, am I that predictable? **

**shadowrallen: If he knows about the Interlopers, it's almost certain he'd want a few...**

**CreativeRoadblock: If you're reading this story, chomping at the bit to see the next RWBY character, you're going to be pretty disappointed. I mean, I have my own plans of course, but this is primarily Yang's story.**

**Emperor KingPerby: THANK YOU!**

**soupie13941: She still doesn't like her being a witch of course, but hey, when you praise the Emperor like the LI...**

**ATP: We'll see how she reacts!**

**Guest: That's true enough. I guess I was being a little callous about that.**

**hellball: Wow, you're too kind! Thanks so much for your kind words! As I've said time and time again, I've put a lot of time into the story and characters, so seeing it rewarded like this is really nice. I hope you enjoy what's coming next!**

**Anonarat: I don't really know what lyrics you're talking about... I use some songs for chapter quotes, but nothing in the story... Other than that, I'm glad to see you're enjoying the story so much!**

**Sigurd: Yeah, I see your point. I guess I'm conflating AWoBE Yang and canon Yang. As she stands in AWoBE, losing a limb would barely slow her down, but canon Yang is a very, _very_ different person.**

**dksamuri: Thank you!**

**BlazeWings: Hahaha so glad you enjoyed it! It's really getting up there in length, isn't it?**

* * *

**So many new faces! Glad to see you guys around, and I hope to see you guys as we move forward! :D**


	49. Ill Omens, Harsh Words

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 48: Ill Omens, Harsh Words**

"_Should have been a moment of rapture. Joy. The Omnissiah blessings are few. Priceless. Circumstances regarding its discovery initiated a host of… desperate runtimes." - Magos Tyrham of Uriel _

It was time to see Yang. Though she'd received an alert several days ago from Magos Prexius, the fact that her friend had finally awoken didn't seem real to her until she left the last Forge, purged the last cultist.

Her head pounded and ached, a brutal battering that felt like an Ork was using her head as a choppa. As her Valkyrie soared through the smog-choked skies of Uriel, she leaned back in her harness. She was alone.

Massaging her temples, she let out a pained noise, praying to the Emperor to interject and end the pulsing agony.

_I went too far_, she thought, not for the first time. Making a show of her ability to dispense the Emperor's justice in order to secure a semblance of loyalty from the Palatine had been utterly draining. Even her aura reserves seemed affected.

Dealing with Yang while fighting off a raging headache was a stomach-turning proposition. Her blonde friend always managed to surprise her, get under her skin, bring out things best left dead and buried.

The Lady Inquisitor sighed. At least she was alone for the time being. The past month was a whirlwind of blood and death, of strategy and brutal, unforgiving tactics.

And dealing with the bombastic General Campbell was exhausting in the extreme. A capable man, in that he earned his position with decades of experience rather than the nepotism that ran rampant through the ranks of the Guard. He never failed to remind her and his inferiors at every available opportunity either. At least obeyed her orders.

Without him, the Sisters, and her Captain's unrelenting, despondant stares, she had a moment to breathe.

Unfortunate that she had to spend it in pain.

_At least I've made leaps and bounds in my studies._

When Chung touched down on one of Tyrham's landing bays, she made her way towards Prexius' labs, before a tech-priest stood in her way.

"My Lady," it hissed. "My Master wishes an audience with you. Your Acolyte is present as well."

_Ira?_ The Lady Inquisitor wondered. _I ordered him to return to the _Scythe of Morning _for the time being._ Her witches' sight burbled an unpleasant, noisy warning. _Something... malevolent is near. _

"Very well," the Lady Inquisitor allowed, turning on her heel. _Yang will have to wait a few more minutes_. "Did the good Magos say anything about this audience?"

"Reason stated as: decryption complete."

Her soul boiled. _Josephus' journal!_

She expected Tyrham to be in a typically excited state, in a fluster over new information and experiments to try.

When she found him in his most private solar, he was still.

"Lady Inquisitor," he said, the words clipped and mechanical. Ira sat in the corner making adjustments to his arms. He seemed intent on avoiding his Lady, though he still bowed his head in deference.

"You left the ship," she said, striding over to stare into Ira's eyes. He was as solemn as his former Master, face drawn and pale.

"There was a magenta-level missive from…" his eyes darted over to Tyrham. "From the Hallowed Inquisitor."

The Lady Inquisitor scowled. Though she had left her former Master under pleasant circumstances, that he would seek her out now was a sign of a grim tarot. She missed her old Master (he had been more of a father to her than any Schnee), but they had agreed that direct contact was best left for emergencies. _Dire_ emergencies.

"Magos" She turned to her ally. "What of Josephus' journal?"

"Work is finished. Journal was… haunting. Brilliant." The toes of his enormous legs clacked against the metal floor. "The Chariot… it is… it is _real_."

"What is it?" The Lady Inquisitor demanded. "What did you learn?!"

The Magos shuddered. Even though Tyrham was more machine than man, more wires than veins, he _shuddered_.

* * *

Yang Xiao Long hated hospitals. Clinical, stuffy, and always filled with a miasma of misery that plucked the shining teeth from fake smiles. Though Prexius' lab was no hospital, she grew to hate it even more. It was endlessly dark, and always echoing with the Magos' chittering legs. Though the care she'd been afforded was beyond reproach (she was only in her wheelchair for two days), she resented her confinement within Tyrham's workshop. And after the wheelchair came something far worse.

A cane.

She'd had the thing for a single fucking day, and she wanted nothing more than to snap it in half and jam the broken ends into Prexius' reptilian, ever-smirking eyes. It had been four days since her awakening, and already cabin fever assaulted her.

Groaning, she rolled off her makeshift bed that'd been tucked into the corner of the lab, impacting against the cold metal floor. It was frigid against her skin, but it woke her up, sent a chill rippling up her spine. Time to begin the day. Looking up at the simple stick of steel that served as her cane, she scowled.

"Fuck you," she said rolling over. Straining, she pushed herself into position. Baring her teeth, she hissed as pain wracked her, billowing out from her stomach and pulsing into her arms and legs. Felt like someone was threading rods of molten barbed wire through her bones. Snorting, she reigned in the agony, let her aura deflect its edge. She was already sweating, and her arms trembled with the effort it took to keep her aloft.

Letting herself descend, she grunted with the effort to took to reassert herself. "One!" She cried. Once more. "Two!" Licking her lips, she frowned, watching a drop of sweat splatter against her hand. Though she'd retained her muscle mass thanks to Prexius, her body wasn't used to exertion. _A few more days, and I'll be back in shape._

Grunting, she launched herself into a series of push-ups. Faster. She didn't bother counting. She'd stop when her forehead hit the floor. _Yeah! Fuck you, cane! _Oh, but it was searing agony, and soon enough, her foresight was rewarded with a solid clunk as she smashed into the floor.

Silence.

"Ow."

Rolling over, she looked up into the muted lights, panting with exertion. _At least I'm out of my flak armor for a bit_, she thought, picking at the dampening tunic she'd been given. It wasn't Mistralian silk, but it breathed a hell of a lot better than her usual get up. Looking at the gown, she realized she hadn't worn her Hunter's clothes since Woadia.

A hand emerged in her vision, wrapped up in sleek synskin.

"Fifty-two today," its owner said. Yang beamed. He'd stopped wearing his mask.

"Thanks, Amat. Think I'm getting the hang of this whole 'being awake' thing." Taking his offered hand, he hauled her to her feet. Reaching out for her cane, she grabbed it deftly, growling at its touch.

"Easy there Yang," Amat said, still supporting her. "It won't bite."

She whapped his calf for that one. "You sure about that, assassin-man?" She asked, a impish grin splitting her cheeks. He shrugged.

"You'll have to hit me a lot harder than that," Amat said, stepping away from her.

"As soon as I'm back in fighting order, we're having that spar," Yang said. "And I will _break _you."

"If you say so," He said, shrugging. Stepping back from Yang, he gestured towards the laboratory doors. "After you."

Yang chuckled. "Such a gentleman," she replied, shuffling forward. "Did you get the eggs liked I asked?"

"Prexius said no more eggs for breakfast."

"You fucking _traitor_," Yang said, utterly aghast.

"She's a hundred years old, Yang, and has spent a good seventy years of that practicing her craft. If she says no more, you're cut off."

"Unforgivable," Yang said, grimacing as the cane rang off the metal floor. "You are obviously unfit to be my guardian. I shall have words with Weiss."

Amat stopped, a pained grimace on his face for a split second. Yang stopped as well, turning to face her friend. "Hey," she said, slapping his ass with the end of her cane. "Quit it. I'm just messing with you."

"I know. But if you really do want to speak with the Lady Inquisitor, you'll have your opportunity. She's returning today."

Yang swallowed.

"I pray you two can see eye-to-eye," Amat said, reaching into his belt and withdrawing a roll of parchment. "Perhaps this will help."

"What is it?" Yang asked, accepting the parchment. She began to unfurl it before Amat stopped her, a pained look on his face.

"It's a gift for my Lady… it's meant for her. I understand if you still wish to look, but I would… prefer if you didn't."

"Oh… sure. Yeah." With a sly grin, she tucked it into her hospital-robe. "You got it, assassin-man."

* * *

"I am pleased to see that you are well, Yang."

Yang didn't return the greeting, instead choosing to continue her approach. Her hunger sated and Amat personally dismissed by the Lady Inquisitor, only the two Remnati remained in the meeting hall. Too spacious by half, and a tad echo-y.

"Yang?" Weiss asked, her smile faltering.

Huffing with the strain it took, Yang pressed on until she was face to face with the Inquisitor. Grinning, she wrapped her friend in her arms.

The Inquisitor was stunned for a moment before collecting herself. Patting her back, she pulled apart, wearing a disarming smirk.

"It's... good to see you, Weiss." Despite her apprehension, she spoke the truth. "I'm… I'm sorry. Before we go any further, I need to say it."

"Of course." Weiss said, her hand reaching up to rest on Yang's shoulder. She was out of her armor, once more clad in her black leathers. Yang's fingers wrapped against the hilt of her cane.

"So… uh… I'm… sorry. I'm sorry, Weiss. What I did was… stupid." She shuddered, suddenly chilled. "Monstrous."

Silence reigned.

"Were you expecting a 'no problem'? An 'it's okay'?" The Lady Inquisitor asked, leaning forward. "You're not going to get one. It's partially my fault. I was lax in my instructional duties. I should have informed you better about the perils of the warp. The warp is insidious… sometimes its corrupting touch lurks for decades before taking root. Oftentimes a solitary moment of weakness is all it takes for Chaos to seize control. Even if you think yourself encased in a citadel of mental fortitude, one wound from a corrupted weapon will send you spiralling down into damnation."

Yang opened her mouth, but a raised hand silenced her.

"Say nothing else. I know what happened. Why it happened. And know that you are a fool."

The condemnation was like a dagger, sharp enough to pierce her aura.

"I-I know Weiss."

"Swearing an oath to protect one mere guardsmen in the chaos of the Imperium is just like you, but it mustn't happen again. The consequences are dire, Yang. More so than you could possibly fathom."

"Worse than… that?" Yang asked. For a time, the Inquisitor said nothing.

"Walk with me," she said eventually, leading her to the towering, embossed doors that led from the conference room.

"I'll do my best," Yang grumbled, her cane clank-clank-clanking.

"Yang, if you had fallen any further, you could have torn a rent in reality. A tear through which daemons by the legion could have spilled out. Or, a daemon of monstrous power could have taken possession of you, twisting you into a daemon yourself." The door opened, revealing a stretching, soaring hallway, adorned with the sigils of the Mechanicus. "Or you might have just gone mad and struck down your own allies, careless of who died, as long as your hands were awash with blood."

A knot formed in her synthetic stomach, the first one she since its installment. Like all sensations recently, it felt removed and dulled, but it knotted all the same.

"It won't happen again."

"It won't," Weiss agreed. "Amat did not properly adjust for your aura. Not at that range. It is not a mistake he will make twice."

"About that," Yang said, wincing. She looked over at her friend, and found her focused instead on the end of the hallway. "I want to hit you for it. A lot. Sending one of your spooks to hover over me? Every day? Every moment? To kill me, no less!" Biting her lip, she pressed onwards, the cane cold and dead in her hand. "But I get why. I do. I've seen it, Weiss. What chaos is like. What the whispers of the warp are like. It will _never_ happen again. I just…. resent that you don't trust me, I guess."

"I can't," The Lady Inquisitor said. "I've come too far, and too many lives are on the line for me to fall into sentimentality." Yang sighed. Not the answer she was hoping for, but certainly the one she'd expected.

"Fine. So be it," She said airily. "Though… about Amat."

"What about him?" Weiss asked, turning to face her. Her eyes were colder than the cane.

"Thanks for letting him stay with me. I like having him around. Where I can see him, I should add. Y'know… talk to him. I can see why you…" Yang trailed off, the words lost to her. Instead, she made sucking, whooshing noises before tapping Weiss'' forehead. For a moment, a smile split the Inquisitor's facade.

"Eloquently put, Yang."

"You know what I mean."

The two friends shared a small grin, before Weiss broke it. "It was necessary. The last mental inhibitions of the Vindicare have been wiped away."  
"Still shouldn't have told him that he couldn't go back," Yang said.

They reached the end of the hallway, and Weiss tapped a button on the side of the door. Splitting open, it revealed Magos' Tyrham's central hub, now gutted and abandoned save for a few scuttling Tech-priests. Yang gaped. _What the hell happened here? I was here two days ago! _The Inquisitor acknowledged none of it however, choosing instead to continue stomping along to her destination. Yang hobbled along.

"I do what I must. You did most of the heavy lifting yourself."

"I did what?" Yang asked, stopping. She prodded at Weiss with her cane, hooking her shoulder. "I sure as shit didn't go rooting around in his brain. That's your department, Ice Queen."

Weiss shook her head, gently removing the metal hook from her arm. "That's true," she said, her words heavy like a battle-tank. "But you do things without realizing it. Your psychic power is greater than you can imagine."

Yang didn't like where this was going. She stepped forward, pulling at her cane, but it was still held in the Inquisitor's iron fingers.

"Don't worry, Yang. I have your word, after all."

She released the cane, and Yang put her weight upon it, wishing it would snap in half. "Am I as powerful as you?"

"It's quite possible," Weiss said, nodding her along. "Maybe even more so. When I first felt you on Elodia, it was almost like looking at the Emperor himself. You need more time. Sanctioning." They moved on, their steps echoing up into the cables and catwalks before they were swallowed completely.

"I had no idea," Yang said, before running her tongue against her teeth. _What am I supposed to do with that kind of information? _They stepped into a lift, attended by a single red-robed half-person. He burbled in techno-speak before the Inquisitor barked an order. Setting the lift into a climb, she turned to Yang.

"It's why Amat had to follow you," Weiss reminded her. "But I'm glad to hear you're getting along."

Yang chuckled. "He doesn't emote very much... bugs the shit out of me. Other than that, he beats the hell out of the rest of the creeps in this place." She shivered. "Magos Prexius… Terra, I'd be happy if I never saw her again."

It was Weiss' turn to smile. "I'm sorry Yang, but you'll probably be seeing a lot more of her."

Yang's grin died, crushed like an insect under a bootheel. "What? Why? I'll be good to go in like two days!"

Instead of replying, the lift door's opened, revealing a penthouse balcony. The wind assaulted them, gusting hard enough to drown Weiss in a flapping coat of golden locks. Yang would have apologized, if she wasn't stunned by the sight before her.

From the depths of Uriel, shuttlecraft and fliers by the hundred streaked skywards, freighting cargo and personnel into the atmosphere. They looked like a swarm of black flies fleeing a carcass, trailing soft arcs of pure white jetstreams behind them.

"Weiss, what's happening?"

Brushing the ocean of hair away from her face, Weiss strode forward, resting her hands on a steel railing. "We're leaving," she replied. "And the Magi are coming with. We've obtained a few clues about Josephus, and the time has come to corner and kill him."

"Fucking finally," Yang snarled, a fist meeting her palm. "And if that bastard knows anything about Ruby, I will pummel him senseless until he tells us everything."

Weiss made a plastic smile. "Of course," she said, returning to watch the host of departing craft. "Look at all this Yang," she added, calling her friend to the banister.

Tying her hair down and tucking it into her clothes, Yang joined her friend, fighting the wind all the while. The roar of passing craft drowned out everything, resonating in the core of her very being.

"It's incredible," Yang admitted.

"I ordered this," Weiss said. "It is by my hand that Uriel stirs and aids our march to war. So much power."

Yang didn't know what to make of that. She rested a hand on the Inquisitor's shoulder, but her friend remained still and unmoving. Sinking against the banister, she buried her face in her hands. "It's so little," Weiss said. "Such a tiny fragment of the Imperium."

"Alright, spill," Yang said, giving Weiss a shake. "What's wrong?"

Weiss drew Myrtenaster, clenching it tight in her slim fingers. They caressed the blade, a thumb passing over the beautiful thorned inscriptions with reverence and care.

"It has returned to me."

"Emperor's rotten _balls_. What happened to it?" Yang asked, stepping forward. Her violet eyes drank in the weapon's slim elegance, the sheer power radiating from its hilt.

"Tyrham happened to it. We, Yang, are Myrtenaster," the Inquisitor said, withdrawing. She sighted down the sword, squinting behind the enlarged cylinder. With a quick flick of her finger, she spun it. It clicked softly.

Yang's tongue ran over her lips when she saw the size of the shells it contained. _That isn't Myrtenaster. It's a monster._

"This weapon," Weiss continued, "is fit to become the stuff of legend. Master-crafted. Powerful beyond reason. Yet it is but a single blade. A single torch meant to illuminate an echoing cavern." Flicking it back into its sheath, she looked at Yang, glacier-melt eyes cold enough to make the polluted humidity of Uriel feel like a winter wind. "We are the same. Brilliant lights standing before a duty we will never see to completion."

The departing aircraft still roared, but silence ruled the balcony. Yang felt the need to look away. The desire to avert her gaze was almost unbearable. She knew what her friend was doing. She knew that Weiss knew. And she knew that no matter what she thought of it, the Inquisitor wouldn't care.

Ice Queen was dead.

"Weiss, you can't think like that," Yang said, a shitty attempt at breaking the deadlock.

"It doesn't matter what I think," the Inquisitor spat. "I am merely being realistic." Resting her hand on Myrtenaster's hilt, she appraised Yang once more, her lip quivering. "I've been recalled by my masters. There is to be a meeting."

Picturing a room of people powerful enough to earn the Lady Inquisitor's respect and obedience wasn't easy. Yang shuddered at the thought of being in the same room of more than one Inquisitor. The apprehension in the Inquisitor's voice didn't help.

"They want you right now?" She asked, peering out from a flash of golden bangs. "You just said we're closing in on Josephus!"

"The meeting is not the only matter that concerns me. I'm afraid we'll have to separate for a time."

Recoiling, Yang stepped back, away from the leather-clad Imperial. "What?" She asked in a small voice, one barely audible over the wind. "Separate?" Then, a fire grew in her artificial gut, and a snarl escaped her lips. "You're joking! Do you know how fucking stupid that is? You were just telling me how big the Imperium is, and how dangerous chaos can be! Did the warp finally get to you?"

"No!" Weiss barked, anger splitting her face down the middle. "Never! I…" The rage slipped away, leeching away into nothingness even faster than it had appeared. "I-I know what the risks are. If it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't order it. I don't want to part from you Yang." The weight of age returned to her shoulders, crushing her under its unrelenting mass. "I know… I know what you think of me. What I've become. And you're right. I don't care."

She laughed, a sound as thin and clear as glass.

"I don't care." A black blur, and Yang's robe was bound in an iron grip. Weiss leaned in, teeth bared. "I don't. Fucking. _Care_. I know what Josephus is after, and what will happen if he gets it. Forget Cadia. Forget seeing Ruby! Trillions will die. But they won't just die. No, Emperor, that would be a mercy!"

This wasn't how Yang saw the conversation going, and for the first time in a very, very long time, a tendril of fear snaked into the core of her being. _Who_ _**is**_ _this woman?_

"They'll suffer, Yang," the Inquisitor said, spittle leaking from the corner of her lips. "Their screams will echo in the warp, unending wails that will drive into your mind like barbed nails. Then, once the last fleet is broken, the last regiment cast down, we'll be next. Our souls will be forfeit, suffering for all of eternity in a realm too nightmarish to even comprehend. If you're so sickened by what I've become, you're pathetic. I do what I must. Anything less than that is a road to damnation. You had a taste of it down there when your little Ruby stand-in was taken."

Yang's shaking arms rested on the Inquisitors shoulders, fingers digging into her back as she fought off the tears that threatened to whisk away into the wind.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Darron's leading the mission, he'll give you the specifics. We won't be separated for long. But if the mission succeeds, we stand a good chance at cornering Josephus before he finds what he's looking for," the Inquisitor said.

Yang nodded before channeling the entirety of her aura into her forehead, focusing it into a spearhead-point. _I don't care if she's right, no one talks about Ros like that_.

She smashed her forehead into the Inquisitor's nose. Weiss' previously unshakable aura splintered under the sheer force, and blood shot forth from her nostrils. The Inquisitor stumbled back, her hand scrambling for purchase on the banister.

None was found, and she collapsed onto the balcony floor, scarlet rivers pouring out from between her fingers.

"You're worse than Cinder," Yang said, picking her cane up. "But that doesn't upset me. What pisses me off is that you're _right_. I hate what you do, and I _hate_ that you're right."

The Inquisitor could only listen, leaning against the banister while she wheezed in agony.

"And the worst part is that somehow you're the least horrible one. Somehow, the fact that you're not completely twisted makes it so much harder to hate you. You've done a lot for me. I can't deny that. But I think some time apart might actually do us some good."

Yang snapped her cane over a knee, throwing the pieces from the balcony. They fell, tiny slices of glimmering metal swallowed up by Uriel's industrial hell. "I'll go do your dirty work, and I will _not_ fall. Chaos tried its schtick once, and it failed. It won't get another chance."

She turned to leave, before remembering the roll of canvas in her robes. "Amat made this for you. Goodbye Weiss." Leaving it at her feet, she limped back to the elevator.

Only when the doors slid shut did she break down and sob.

* * *

The Lady Inquisitor watched Yang go, the taste of wet iron poisoning her tongue. Grunting, she pulled herself up, the splinters of her nasal cavity biting into her ability to think clearly. Pain pulsed from every shard of bone, and several different balconies swam in her vision.

Cursing under her breath, she stumbled over to the roll of paper Yang left behind.

_You idiot_, she thought past the tears of blinding pain. _You got worked up again! Why is Yang so good at needling you into an over-reaction?_ Her friend's naivete was corrosive and deadly, but at least she was learning to outgrow it. _At least she's going on the mission._

In truth, it was Tyrham's revelation that had shaken her… allowed Yang to dig underneath her skin. _If Josephus finds the Chariot of Salvation…_ She huffed, spitting blood down her front. _If he is as close as Tyrham believes..._

"Emperor give me strength," the Lady Inquisitor said. "Emperor give me strength." Wiping her bloodied fingers on her thigh, she unfurled Amat's gift.

Only then did the tears come.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the huge wait on this one. I could list all my excuses, but I don't think I will. Real life can suck, and it can be busy, but it can be pretty great too. Thanks to everyone who's still with me, and I really hope you enjoyed today's chapter!**

**Please, please, please let me know what you thought! I always love to hear from you guys.**

**Review Replies:**

**...Are no longer a thing. I really apologize for this development, but it's a necessary one. From now on, I'll be replying to reviews the normal way - via PMs. This way I can avoid bloating my word count and get you chapters a hair faster than I would otherwise be able to.**

**As for everyone who reviewed in the two months since Chapter 47, _THANK YOU SO MUCH!_ I really appreciate every single person who takes the time to leave a comment or review.**

**I'm happy to see so many new faces picking up the story, and I'm flattered by all your kind words.**

**Until next time, ONWARDS AND UPWARDS! FOR THE EMPEROR!**


	50. Broken Toy Soldiers

**A/N: Almost to chapter 50! Holy crap!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 49: Broken Toy Soldiers**

"_If I could sum up my service in a single sentence, it's this - the Guard doesn't give a shit. You could be the airborne soldiers they've seen since the Elysians, but without the name recognition you're just a big pile of meat." - Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik_

"That bad?"

"Shut up, assassin-man," Yang said, wiping at her eyes. "I don't know what to fucking think. My life doesn't make sense anymore."

Amat offered her his arm. "Thought that would be the first thing on your mind when you arrived in the Imperium," he said. "Not eight months into it." She accepted his help, leaning on him as she stumbled back towards Prexius' lab.

"Shouldn't have thrown my cane away," she muttered. "Stupid piece of shit."

They didn't speak much after that. Not until Amat led her away from the hallway that led back to the lab.

"This isn't the way," she said.

"We're leaving. We're the last to go, too," Amat said.

"Ah," Yang said. _It's amazing how fast this place can get gutted_. "Are you coming with me? On the mission?"

Nodding, the assassin smiled. Or at least, gave her his version of a smile, which tended to be a quick upwards twitch of the lip. Yang clapped him on the shoulder. Sniffing, she wiped at her nose.

"Glad to hear it bud," she said, putting on a grin. "I could use that compensation-stick of yours."

"My what?"

Shrugging, she tucked a stray strand of gold behind her ear. "Never mind. Just messing with you." She looked away. Weiss' words stuck with her, clinging to her mind like a poisonous hangover. "Why do you not hate me?"

"Not much to hate," Amat said. "You confuse me sometimes. A lot actually," he said. "But why would I hate you? Where is this coming from?"  
_Weiss_. But Yang didn't say that. "It's just... I'm a psyker… you were supposed to kill me. I _fell_. Or I started to, at least. Now here we are, smiling and carrying on like it never happened. That doesn't… I don't know… bother you?"

"Yang, two months ago you told me you died. In the time since then, that managed to be the least strange thing that I've learned. You didn't fall. That's all that matters. 'The gait of a truly righteous man may falter, but will never collapse." He paused.

A look of supreme confusion flickered over his face, the heartbeat-flash of a lost man. It was present for only a moment before it vanished completely. Yang squeezed his wrist, and he blinked.

"Mother used to say that. I don't even remember what she looked like."

"If you'd met me a few years ago, I'd say we have something in common," Yang said with a smirk, eager to sweep her angsting under the rug. Wasn't like her to dwell.

_But for that matter… why? Why is he so… okay with everything? Is that Weiss' doing? The Temple's?_ She knew he spoke the truth, that much was certain. He didn't have a deceitful bone in his body. But why that was so still eluded her.

"Raven, right?"

"Raven," Yang agreed, a rueful grin on her face.

Amat met her violet eyes. If he were anybody else, he probably would have grinned. "I know your mother better than my own. Though she didn't seem like the motherly type."

"She most certainly wasn't. 'Gait of a righteous man' is something though. The first thing my mom said to me… she said it after saving my life. 'Don't expect something like that again'. But she couldn't even say it in person. I'd say you're the luckier one."

"Maybe," he said. His beard scratched at her cheek, and she itched at it with a free fringer.

"Funny how things work out. Now, why don't you do something about this beard, man?"

"My what? Oh," he said, teasing the sandy hairs between his fingers. "Yeah. Due for a shave."

"You could probably pull off a good five o'clock shadow," Yang teased, turning his chin. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"I have no idea what that is."

Yang laughed, leaning against his shoulder as a wince of pain stabbed her in the gut. "I'm sensing a theme here. Now come on, don't we have a starship to catch?"

The question of Amat's puzzling attitude could wait. For now, she was just happy to have him along.

* * *

"Yang?" The first time Asgeg said her name, it was tremulous. Weak. "Yang?" Stronger now, like a whisper of breath from a drowning woman. "Praise the Emperor! It's you!" With a brittle smile, Yang approached her friends.

She'd ditched the over-soft and sterilized robes for her usual simple duds, fatigues and a plain white tank-top. Bandages still stretched around her torso, the knot of which bulged against the fabric on her flank.

"It's me, guys," She said. Ducking into the _Ascendant Dawn_'s barracks, she removed the bloodstained beret that sat uneasily on the crown of her head. Knotting it up in her hands, she bit her lip, sucking in a long breath. "I'm back."

"Holy shit!" Someone cried. "She's alive!"

A flood of humanity engulfed her, a tide of small brown-skinned Woadians padding against the cold metal floor to greet their champion. A million questions washed over her, elated burbles that brought forth a flood of salt. The questions didn't stop, but they still acknowledged her tears, pressing into her with warm embraces and bright, honest smiles.

She buried her face into Asgeg's hair, filling her fingers with the woman's stark-white locks. _Why am I crying? _Yang found she couldn't answer that. Mael reached up, clapping a rough hand around her shoulder.

Wiping her tears, Yang did the same, sniffing all the while. Her muscle bound friend was getting all misty-eyed, and she noticed he'd cut his hair. His shaggy mane of ice-white hair had suffered the laceration of a determined razor, with the sides of his head left pale and bare. What was left was tied into a topknot.

"Nice haircut, bud," she said, scraping at the stubble behind his ears.

"Dumbass got himself married," Asgeg said, still beaming. Her metal hand ate up the back of his head, giving it a gentle shake. "Gave him the traditional scraping. Looks halfway respectable now, don't he?"

"Where's the lucky lady?" Yang asked, craning her neck as she scanned the barracks for Soo. Mael shrugged.

"She's probably with the medics right now," Asgeg said. "She's been working pretty hard at it. Yang, you okay?" She asked, leaning forward.

"I… yeah. I'm sorry I scared the shit out of you guys down there," Yang said, gesturing at Uriel. "Something… came over me."

"I'd say," a voice called out. Caolin's voice.

While what remained of Gamma had come to greet Yang, Caolin stayed back, a lho-stick dangling from his fingers. Turning to face her, she saw that the war-paint that Ros had given him was still there - in a manner of speaking. It'd been covered over with tattoos, marking him forevermore as a warrior.

"E-Easy," Lana warned, tugging at Yang's fatigues. "He's been through a lot," she said. Yang nodded stoically.

"Yo Caolin! You gonna mope around over there like a little bitch, or are you gonna come give me a hug?" She demanded, calling out to her friend. Lana winced, and Mael's face met his palm. Laughing, Caolin leapt up from his bunk, a grin on his face.

They met halfway, holding each other tight.

"How're you holding up buddy?" She asked, whispering into his ear.

"Not… not well," He said. Yang nodded, retreating from their embrace. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and her thumb caressed the blue tattoos under his eye.

"I know. I'm sorry for flying off the handle back there. Hitting you."

"It's okay," he said, taking ahold of her wrist. His other hand brought up his lho-stick, and he took a drag. "It really is. I just wish I could have done the same damage you did."

"Damn straight," Yang said, punching him in the gut. "This is what I got for it too," she added, lifting her tank top. "Check it out."

Caolin's drag deepened, and his eyes went wide. "Holy God Emperor," he breathed, spilling smoke from between his teeth.

"You gettin' an eyeful over there Caolin?" Asgeg asked, smirking.

"Look at this shit!" Caolin said, spinning Yang around. Gasps and whispered prayers hissed through the gathered Woadians as they saw the scars that rippled across her stomach.

Yang posed for them, flexing so she could make the scars ripple and dance. "Pretty cool huh? Turns out I'm rocking more augs then Asgeg now," she said, patting her abs. "New kidney, stomach, and a liver to boot."

"As if it needed the h-help, "Lana said, groaning. Yang pulled her tank top down, concealing the scars once more.

"You see why I've been out of touch for a while, right?" She asked, cracking her knuckles.

"It's a miracle you're still standing," Caolin said. "Holy Terra. How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess," Yang said. "Need to get back to my routine. Pump some iron," she said as she flexed her biceps. It'd been too long since they got a good workout. "What have you guys been up to?"

Silence greeted her, before a few mumbled prayers and quick Signs of the Aquila rippled through the platoon.

"We've been fighting," Caolin said, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Our Lady's led us in the cleansing of Uriel. It..." he trailed off, a knot in his throat constricting his speech. "The eldar were just the start of it." Finishing his lho-stick, he dropped it onto the deck, grinding it into ash with a barefooted heel. "Ros, Emperor bless her," he said, fists clenched, "Even Ros would've had a hard time pushing through that nightmare. There were so many bodies, Yang. And they all had to be burned. Guardsmen, traitor, cultist…" he shook his head. "We'd fight all day, until our bayonets broke and our batteries were spent. I've clubbed more men to death the past two weeks than I shot."

"Terra," Yang breathed, trying to meet his gaze. But his eyes had clouded over, and he lit another lho-stick absentmindedly.

"One week on, and we lost Major Hrakkson. Entire platoon," he said, waving his hands. "Poof. Gone. There were these... _things_," he said, the act of remembering misting his eyes with pain. "Monsters. Giants. Cultists who had fused themselves with metal. Had these giant raven symbols on their chests. Brands," he guessed, taking a drag. The platoon shuddered.

_Josephus_, Yang thought with a scowl. Those traitor marines had that same emblems on their oversized pauldrons. _And Major Hrakkson's dead. Fuck._ In a thought that soured her mind, her mind flicked to his girlfriend, the muscled radio-operator. _Shit's unfair._

"Where's Theni?" Yang asked, preparing herself for the worst. The Woadians frowned, but not overly-grieved. One spat.

"He's alive, but he'll never be a soldier again," Caolin said. "Eldar nicked him during the ambush with a poisoned blade. Fuck," he said, gritting the word out. "He screamed for a _week_. Almost died."

Yang winced. "Aw shit… that's not fair." Her friends nodded. "He up and about?"  
Asgeg shrugged, rolling her shoulders. "Still in a wheelchair… but he lives with the Ranshans now. Tough son a bitch, I'll give him that."

"Ah, shit," Yang said with a sigh. "I wish I could've been there for you guys," Yang said, glancing at Gamma. They brightened at that, and Yang was briefly confused.

"Thing is," Asgeg started, her finger tugging at one of her side-braids. "You still were... kinda. For some reason, whatever sleep we got… we didn't get much, I should add," she said. Caolin puffed in agreement. "We dreamed about you. All of us."  
Yang sucked in a breath, parsing the rest of Gamma for someone to deny it. No one did. They just bowed their heads, sheepish, humble grins stretched across their faces.

"No matter how long we slept. Half hour. Two hours… we would dream about you, and wake up feeling like we'd been out for twelve."

Yang wanted to chuckle, make fun of the absurdity of the statement, but her throat had gone as dry as a desert. "Nothing perverted, I hope," she joked, trying to ignore the Inquisitor's words, the ones that scratched at her mind, demanding her attention - 'You do things without realizing it. Your psychic power is greater than you can imagine.'

_I feel sick._

Mael shook his head.

Yang sat down on her bunk. The one she used to share with Ros. Though it was impossible, it felt like the _Ascendant Dawn_ no longer sailed through the stars, but rocked and pitched on an open sea. Her hands folded up, clasping together to keep from shaking. _How did I do it? Why? _She didn't remember anything of her brief coma except taunting visions of Ros... and, as always, the Glass Cage.

"You okay Yang?" Asgeg asked, taking tentative steps towards her friend.

"I… yeah. It's just… a lot to take in," Yang said, studying her fingers.

"You're b-blessed," Lana said. Once again, no one denied it, silence ringing in the barracks block.

"Maybe I am," Yang said, laying down. Above her was an empty bunk. She didn't think Weiss would like her admitting it, but the Inquisitor was so far away, riding the _Scythe of Morning_ to whatever hellpit her superiors occupied.

_Maybe I am... but I still couldn't save Ros_.

* * *

Yang didn't know when she fell asleep, but she must have, because the lights had dimmed, and Gamma no longer crowded around her. At the foot of her bunk, they'd left a flask of Amasec. A small scrap of paper stuck out from underneath it.

'Sorry it's not Major Hrakkson's stuff,' it read. 'But it's the least we could do. We love you Yang. Ros did too, but she was always garbage at all that emotional stuff. I miss her a lot. It's not your fault. See you in the morning. - Caolin.'

The rustling of paper disturbed the quiet of the sleeping barracks as Yang's fingers dug into the note. Massaging her temples, she quietly opened her footlocker. She tucked the note into her wallet, right next to the Lien notes she would never spend. The pict Rhain took on Elodia stared back at her.

Smiling, she tucked it away.

_I can't linger. Not anymore._

The realization pulsed through her. _Never again. _Lingering led to what happened on Uriel. Looking at the photo of team RWBY, she felt the familiar constriction of her heart, savoring it one last time.

She wasn't done grieving over Ruby. Her fingers slipped under her tank top, tracing the smooth ridges that webbed across her stomach. But she felt like it was time to start taking steps in that direction. _I __**won't**_ _be like the Inquisitor._

It felt like a betrayal. Sacrilegious. If anything ever sounded like 'heresy' to Yang Xiao Long, it was that. Not grieving felt like forgetting, something she'd been so close to doing on Uriel… Remembering the slaughter she'd wrought, she could taste the forgeworld's acrid air on her tongue. _Fuck_.

Looking down at the amasec, she scooped it up and headed to the bathroom. Throwing a stall door open, she uncapped the flask and poured it into the toilet. She shook the last drops out from within the metal canister, upending it until nothing remained within.

Time to hit the weight room.

Tying her voluminous hair behind her head, a small grin stretched across her face. _Maybe Amat will pop by to say hello_. Stealthily grabbing her things from her locker, she plodded through the _Ascendant Dawn_, still smiling. Truth be told, she kinda missed her sandbag, and the tiny little stowaway room.

Fingers caressed the hallway as she passed, running over scrawled names and prayers by the hundreds. They almost covered the walls entirely now. After the endless sterile glow of Prexius' labs (and the unseeing glares of the numerous servitor 'darlings', as the Magus referred to them), the old transport felt like home.

Opening the creaking door to the weight room, she swallowed. The names in the corner reached the ceiling now, and the candles below them had melted into a puddle of wax. She knew the casualties were bad, but seeing it like this was... more personal.

The tape came out, and it was around her fists in a matter of seconds.

"Alright old buddy," she said, hooking the sandbag up. "Just you and me."

She was merciless. Exacting. It'd been a month since she had the opportunity to really exercise, and she used every second to vent her frustration, her failures. For a time, Weiss' drawn and gaunt features melted away, along with Gamma's adoring stares. For a time, it was just endless thumping, the sensation of sand giving way to her unrelenting fists.

Like a trickling river of warmth, her aura kept her upright, through tiny winces of pain that needled her endlessly, through the exhaustion that swept up sooner that should have. Each time she struck the bag, she let a little more power slip, sending it crashing and rattling in an uncontrolled spiral.

She couldn't deny it any more. Yang was overflowing with power, her soul was a wellspring of golden light and crackling ozone. She knew it was the warp that fueled her so, let her bellow out flame like a dragon.

Centering the bag, she huffed. _Doing that again could be useful_, _as long as I don't get all unhinged afterwards. _Though whatever mission Weiss had in mind for her, she resolved to use her psykery as little as possible. _Can't risk it without her around. I don't want to force Amat's hand. I need more practice. A clearer mind._

The bag rang, smacking against the ceiling. Her last chat with the Inquisitor… _Why can't Weiss just be…_

Words failed her, and she took a quick break for water. Underneath the tape, her knuckles were red and raw, just the way she liked them. Concentrating, she spilled aura into her hands, watching the skin smooth out into a set of white callouses.

"Well I'll be damned," she whispered. That was _fast_. Besides the pain of adjusting to her bionics, nothing seemed too different from… before. But unless she had her semblance completely unleashed, her aura never fixed wounds that readily.

Knuckles rapped against the steel door.

"Amat," she called out, "just the man I wanted to see!" The door fell open, revealing the masked Vindicare Assassin.

"How'd you know it was me?" He asked, head tilted.

"I'm smart like that. Why the mask, man?"

He made to put his rifle down, before deciding against it. "The Captain and the Lieutenant are looking for you."

Yang winced. "Darron and Chera? Weiss' guards?" She asked. Amat nodded. "Oh boy. What if I'd been asleep? Don't tell me they barged into the barracks looking for me."

Amat shook his head. "Not quite. I overheard them in the hall. They seem anxious," he added. "Not like them."

"Ah," Yang said. _Great. Two jumpy kasrkin who hate me. Who I'm setting off on a mission with. _"They send you after me?"

"Ah…" Somehow, Amat managed to look embarrassed in that cat-suit of his, even with his face completely obscured. "That's the thing. They don't know I exist. You're going to have to introduce us."

Thank the Emperor she wasn't drinking water at the time. "This… isn't exactly what I had in mind," Yang admitted.

"Oh, and the Lady Inquisitor neglected to tell them that you're a psyker. I think she wants you to explain that one."

Yang's lips moved, but she couldn't find words to push through them. She was heading off on a mission she had zero briefing on, with a bunch of twitchy stone-cold super-troopers that hated everything she was. And she had to explain that to them.

She found something to say.

"Well... _fuck_."

* * *

**A/N: This does not bode well for Yang... the kasrkin, and the worshipful looks from Gamma. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear what you thought!**

**Oh and a brief reminder: I'M STILL DOING REVIEW REPLIES, they're just via 's built-in review reply service.**

**Until next time, guys!**


	51. The Lady Highest

**A/N: Holy God-Emperor, everyone! The 50th chapter! A big thank you to everyone who's been with me so far... I really appreciate it!**

* * *

**Book II: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 50: The Lady Highest**

"_Trust is for the bold." - The Hallowed Inquisitor_

"Any advice?" Amat asked, looking over at Yang. She shrugged.

"You know them better than I do," she replied. Beyond the bulkhead lay Darron and Chera, as well as the rest of their small task force, all gathered in the Warp Observation Deck. Outside of brief (unfriendly) stares and a few barked threats, Yang wasn't too familiar with the kasrkin.

She rapped her knuckles against the door before kicking it open. The bulkhead gave way, revealing her newest set of… friends. _Yeah, let's go with that_. Their heads swivelled to fix the intruder with purple stares. It was almost like looking into a mirror. _Creepy_.

"Trooper Yang," their leader growled. He was a big man, approaching middle age, by the look of it. It was the first time she'd seen him out of his armor and grimm-mask. Muscle-bound and heavily scarred, Yang noted with distaste that he was pretty good looking. Didn't make up for the fact that it looked like they were determined to be assholes about everything, but still.

There were five of them, seated in the couches that sat within the Empyrean Observatory. Only fluorescent light shone in the room, as the shutters remained fastened shut.

"Sergeant Yang now, actually," Yang said, pointing at the beret sitting atop her head. Before arriving at the Observation Deck, she'd made a quick pit-stop at the barracks, only to find a set of promotion papers waiting for her on her bunk. 'Congratulations', they read. Captain Lyrasson signed them, said she was in charge of Gamma now… but it didn't feel like a promotion, or anything worthy of congratulations. It felt like command was plugging a hole on a leaky boat. She'd do her best to keep them alive, just as always… but it felt weird being in charge of them… especially when they looked at her like _that_.

"But let's not do formalities," Yang continued. "I'm pretty shit at them." At least that got a faint twitching smile from the babe with the undercut. "I know you guys aren't my biggest fans, if what the Lady Inquisitor says is true." Silence. Clearing her throat, Yang continued. "But if we're going on an extended mission together, let's try and get along. We're here to do the Inquisitor's work. Let's not get into a dick-measuring contest."

Amat blinked.

"_Sergeant_ Yang," their leader said, leaning forward, hands clasped. A meaty autopistol hung from his hip. "We were told you'd be accompanying us, along with a newcomer. This is him?" He asked, eyes parsing Amat.

"Correct," Yang said, clapping a hand to her friend's shoulder. "Everyone, this is Amat. He knows you a little better than you know him."

Amat saluted crisply. "Vindicare Assassin, at your command, sir." His words drew out long whistles of appreciation from the Cadians.

"Vindicare," Undercut breathed, elbowing their leader. "I _knew_ we were being watched."

"I apologize for the delay in our introduction," Amat said diplomatically. "Our Lady thought it prudent that I remain a hidden asset."

Yang very desperately wished to add a punny 'ass' comment, but had the good sense to bite it down. The leader considered his words in silence before nodding.

"Very well, Assassin. You know our names then?" He asked. Amat nodded. "Sergeant Yang?"

"No clue… sir."

Sighing, he gestured to himself. "Captain Darron Marius. Lieutenant Chera Marius," he said gesturing to Undercut. "Over there, that's Trooper Janos Gata, Trooper Casser Moribald, and Trooper Suriel Williams. We are among the Lady Inquisitors most trusted soldiers."

"Fair enough," Yang said. "So, are you guys like brother and sister," she asked the Captain, leaning on her hip. _They don't look related_. Her comments made the kasrkin crack a few smiles, though their commanders paled. "What'd I say?"

"We're married," Darron hissed through clenched teeth. Yang couldn't stop a snort of laughter from escaping.

"Oops," she said, rubbing the back of her head. "What a wonderful foot we've started off on."

"Who are you?" Chera asked, and the mirth died instantly, sucked away as if a hole had opened up in the hull of the _Ascendant Dawn_. Her voice was like a chainsword edged in adamantium. "You appear out of nowhere, in a regiment full of pissant hicks that look nothing like you. You're suspected of being a witch, yet the Inquisitor names you her Representative. You slay a traitor marine, but no one sees you do it."

"Not technically correct Lieutenant," Amat interrupted, head bowing mechanically as a quick apology. "I saw her do it. And she killed three of them."

"It woulda been four if someone hadn't been premature," Yang grinned, punching his shoulder. Amat smiled. Well, she pictured him smiling, since he still wore his mask. "Son of a bitch stole my kill."

"He had you pinned, Yang," Amat reminded her. "Don't be boastful."

"Shut up," Darron said. Chera eyes flicked to her husband, and she squeezed his knee as a show of support. "You may be Vindicare, assassin, but even you must realize this woman is dangerous," he said, his violet eyes boring into Yang's. "You're on good terms with her, and today is the first time we're meeting you. The Lieutenant is right. Who _are_ you, Yang Xiao Long?"

_Oof._ "Kind of a big question to drop on someone, you know?" She said. Silence. No takers. Dammit. _Alright, time to switch tactics._ Readjusting the strap on her satchel, Yang elbowed Amat. Peering at his sanguine red visor, she gave him her best 'play along' look. He remained motionless. "Alright… tough crowd," Yang said. "So how's this gonna go down, Amat? Should I let him shoot me, or should I do the hair thing?"

"Let's start with the hair thing," Amat allowed. Grinning at the now _thoroughly_ confused kasrkin, Yang's fist met her waiting palm. The Observation Deck saw a new dawn, born in a blaze of flickering golden hair. Weiss' bodyguards collided in their haste to back away from the pair, scrambling over the couches and barking in surprise.

"Psyker!" Darron roared from behind his impromptu cover, autopistol drawn and pointed at Yang's forehead. "You're a warp-damned psyker!"

"Yeah, the Lady Inquisitor has some kinda plan for me," Yang said. "Didn't want me to expose myself just yet." She shrugged. "Considering how my friends would react if they found out, I guess I'm just happy to play along."

"Vindicare?" Darron growled. Amat nodded in affirmation.

"What she says is true. I've seen her use her witchcraft before. She's quite… potent," he added.

"Darron, look," Chera said. "Look at her shoulder."

_Hm? Oh yeah._ Turning to give her new friends a better look, she showed them her glyphs, which smoldered a burnt yellow.

"Golden Throne," the Captain hissed. "What witchcraft is this?"

"W- the Lady Inquisitor's," Yang answered, hands on her hips. "She's been training me as her adept these past few months."

"Makes sense," Casser said. "In a way. Our Lady's just the type to snatch an untrained psyker for herself, before the Telepahtica can."

Janos huffed. "Just wish she'd told us," he said. "We're supposed to protect her, you know," he added, resting his arms on the meltagun slung around his neck. "Tough to do when she doesn't tell us everything."

Snorting in agreement, Darron reached into the front of his jacket, retrieving a pack of lho sticks. "Most ridiculous psyker I've ever seen," he said, lighting up a smoke. He waved it at Yang's hair, words failing him for a second. "I was wondering why you were so damned special." Taking a long drag, his wife flicked her eyes towards him before returning them to Yang.

"We almost lost Arken getting her to Prexius," Suriel said. The others clucked their tongues at that, and Casser's face screwed up at the mention of the... atypical Magos.

"Yeah," Yang said, grimacing. "Sorry about that." She let her hair extinguish, the flaxen locks setting around her shoulders. "I don't know what this mission is, but I'll carry my own weight." She paused, letting that sink in. "I know you don't trust me, and I'm not gonna ask that of you. I do ask that you trust Amat though," she said, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "He's my leash, so to speak. If I go all… psyker-y," she trailed off before pressing her fingers to her skull. "Boom."

Flicking his ashes away, Darron nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "You're more cavalier about it than other psykers I've met."

"That's because I know it isn't gonna happen."

The Captain and Lieutenant shared a look. No doubt readying their red stamp of approval. Yang forced herself to suppress a dark chuckle. _As if they'd actually disobey Weiss. _She'd actually done pretty well though… they weren't pointing guns at her anymore.

"Very well," Darron said, kicking the couch back into its original position. "We'll speak more thoroughly before planetfall, but the mission is fairly simple. We're acting as the Lady Inquisitor's liaisons," he said, gesturing for Yang to sit. She did so, kicking her feet up on the end table. The Lieutenant rolled her eyes. "We're going to a small out-of-the-way planet called Gartenwald. Civilized world," he continued. "Nothing too noteworthy about it… though they do kick out some excellent Armored Regiments every couple decades for the Tithe. All we have to do is camp out in a secure location and wait for another Inquisitor's party."

Yang frowned. This didn't seem like her type of mission. _Is Weiss putting me on a trial period? Is this her way of punishing me? If that's the case, why is she sending her guards along?_

"What's the other party got?" Yang asked. She scooched over, letting Amat sit down next to her. Yang couldn't be sure, but she had a feeling that this was more people he'd been face-to-face with in… maybe forever. Discomfort seemed to exude from him in the way he moved - it was entirely too mechanical, nothing like his usual grace and fluidity.

"We don't know specifically, which is why we're meeting with them," Darron explained. "Our Lady informed me they have data on the artifact Josephus seeks. Once we get it, we'll wait on Gartenwald for extraction. Simple."

"I don't like it," Yang said immediately. Darron huffed, blowing smoke through his nose.

"She speaks sense," Chera said.

"This doesn't seem like Wei… like the Lady Inquisitor's M.O. either," Yang went on_. Damn it, is it really so hard to use her title?_ "She's too much of a micromanager. And she's sending the best of her best, too."

_The few people she still might care about._

"Our Lady's word is law," Chera said. "But I share the same misgivings." Scratching at the stubble above her ear, she stole her husband's lho for a quick drag.

"We can agree about that, at least," Darron allowed.

* * *

"Do you trust her?" Chera asked, once the strange pair departed. They'd spent a half-hour going over a few specifics, but Sergeant Xiao Long seemed to have grasped the gist of it.

"Absolutely not," Darron said. He checked his pack of lhos, disappointed to find they were already half gone. _That woman causes me an undue amount of stress._ "Well… I don't know. Not completely." His life made sense before Yang Xiao Long barged into it. The Lady Inquisitor didn't pace back then. Didn't have those baggy eyes, the ones that looked like six years of mascara melting down her cheeks. _Is my resentment clouding my judgement?_

"I know, babe," Chera said, pressing her lips to his temple. "I get the same feeling. I want to like her. Something about her is just… magnetic. I mean, did you see her hair? It was like looking at vision of the Emperor Himself."

Darron wanted to disagree. To admonish his wife for comparing the Emperor to a common witch. He couldn't, and it drove him mad. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. _Yang Xiao Long is no common witch._

"And this Vindicare…" Chera said, shuddering. "I thought Our Lady's visit to Holy Terra seemed off."

"I was… worried," Darron agreed. "Still am. Do we… even know her? Our Lady?"

Chera looked at her husband, then at her feet. She adored their master over all their comrades. Her hands folded together, and she shut her eyes, trying to will the world away. Darron took her hands in his own, squeezing tight.

"I know, babe. I know."

* * *

"Do you trust them?" Amat asked as they returned to the weight room. The _Ascendant Dawn _was silent this late into the night-cycle, and the long, painted hallways stretched out before them, echoing with their footsteps.

"Absolutely not," Yang grumbled, cracking her knuckles. "They seem like decent people, but I've already ruffled their feathers too much. They'll be watching me like a hawk, waiting for an excuse to take me down. The only person I trust with that kinda job is you," she said. Amat shrugged.

"If you say so," he said. "I've spent some time observing them the past few years. They're a tight-knit group. Darron and Chera have known each other since they were six, and their loyalty to the Lady Inquisitor is absolute. As long as you don't stand between either of those things, you should be fine."

"Do you always creep on people before you meet them?" Yang asked, grinning. Amat shrugged again.

"Not unless my Lady orders me to."

_Well that's worrying_. At this point, Weiss' paranoia would have called down a legion of grimm if she still lived on Remnant. _What happened to her to make her like this? Who helped her down this path?_

"That doesn't… bother you?" Yang tried.

"I'm an assassin, Yang," Amat answered. "Or… I was. I don't know. Pulling at his mask, he exposed his face to the stale air of the _Ascendant Dawn_. His lips were pursed, his eyes shrouded over like suns swallowed by storm clouds. "I'm a weapon. In that regard, I'm not much different from a Huntsman," he noted. "It took the approval of all twelve Lords of Terra for me to leave the Temple."

"Wait wait wait," Yang said, throwing her hand up, halting their leisurely march. "You mean like… the guys who run the Imperium? The heads of the Adeptus? _Those guys?_"

Amat nodded, humbled by the awe in her voice. "The Temple has shaped the Imperium since its inception. Each time we punch through the pages of history, it is a grave affair, written in blood." He stalled, waving his hand as he searched for the words.

"I… didn't know," Yang said. "Dust… working for Weiss must have been an adjustment." That earned her a brief chuckle.

"It has. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Yang didn't know how to take that. It felt weird. _Probably just tired. _"Hey Amat, I think it's time for me to hit the hay. I got a lot to think over, you know?"

Nodding, Amat readjusted the strap around his shoulders. "I need to meditate as well."

"Draw some pretty pictures," Yang said, winking. Amat smiled. For real this time.

The barracks was just as still and silent as when she left it. Crawling under the covers of her bunk, she rested.

_What could Josephus be chasing?_ The question taunted her, tortured her until the peak of the night-cycle. When Caolin began to cry in his sleep, Yang threw a pillow over her head and held tight.

* * *

True to its masterful construction, the _Scythe of Morning_ took mere weeks to arrive at the Lady Inquisitor's destination: the Inquisitorial Fortress world of Kastile Secundus. Most of that time she spent in a meditative trance, an attempt to center herself, regain her unflappable composure.

Being away from Yang and her most trusted kasrkin helped. Yang radiated psychic power, and being near her was like staring at a sun for hours on end. She wasn't as powerful as the Inquisitor, not yet, but the nature of her power was entirely different. If she learned to channel it effectively, the Lady Inquisitor feared for what her friend would be capable of. As for her kasrkin, they were still loyal, but their guards had been rebuilt, and they relaxed less often. It would take some time to fully regain their trust.

Another source of comfort was the relic she'd liberated from Ezzelino's grasp. It bore no massive psychic signature like the holiest of relics, but she could still feel the Emperor's warmth radiating from it. Over the course of her transit, she found herself praying to it, as if it were a conduit to the Golden Throne itself.

How typically arrogant of Ezzelino to wear it like a piece of jewelry. She decided to instead leave it upon the altar of her personal chapel.  
She also spent the time in transit speaking with Ira, making sure he understood what would be expected of him upon their arrival. He was new to the Recongrators, and the Hallowed Inquisitor would be inspecting him closely.

The Lady Inquisitor had no fears that he would fail, but she preferred leaving nothing to chance. Ira was slow to understand some of the aspects of Recongrator philosophy - as a former skitarii, he had trouble conceptualizing fear.

She merely told him to remember the daemon.

"My Lady, two minutes to dust-off," Chung said over her microbead.

"Very well," the Lady Inquisitor replied, her fingers finishing the last strokes on the latest edition of her report. She tucked away the data slate. The Sisters had insisted upon attending her, but they would do little more than circle the Citadel's premises in their Thunderhawks. Too many secrets within.

Ira's fingers rapped against his power sword, and he studied the Valkyrie's door. Ever since Magos Tyrham finished the translation of Josephus' journals, he had grown silent and contemplative. When she was not instructing him, he was often burbling in binary to the _Scythe of Morning_, working on his augmentics or a new project. Now he sat in total silence, his stare fixed light years away.

The lights within the Valkyrie snapped to a dark red, and their final approach began. The Lady Inquisitor's tongue flickered at her lips. How long had it been since she had laid eyes upon her Master?

With a hiss of steam, the bay doors opened, revealing a small landing pad. Red jet-wash sprayed across the surface, a whirlwind of sand that slapped at her overcoat. Shielding her eyes from the searing blue suns, The Lady Inquisitor paced out her steps.

Twenty paces to the North, eight to the east. She crouched and pressed a single digit to the seamless asphalt. A click sounded out, inaudible over the howling gale and Chung's ascent. Beside her, an elevator arose, sand spilling off its edge.

Ira cocked his head, and she nodded.

Once inside, the lift doors sealed away the howling noise of Kastile Secundus. The lift plummeted, hauling them deeper and deeper into the planet's crust. It had been many years since The Lady Inquisitor had visited the Recongrator's sector Headquarters. She knew there were dozens of such facilities scattered about the Imperium's segmentums, but only this one was familiar to her.

As the lift hummed along, Ira shifted his weight.

"Worry not," The Lady Inquisitor said. "My mentor trusts me implicitly. My judgement is unerring."

"Of course, my Lady," Ira replied.

The lift doors opened, revealing the Headquarters' antechamber... though 'antechamber' was not an adequate enough word to describe its titanic size. Grey-stone pillars six meters wide stretched upwards to the vaulted ceiling, each featureless and unadorned. Artificial sunlight streamed in above them, pure golden beams that lit upon the tile floor. Across the ivy-infested walls hung a collection of portraits, each one depicting a prominent Recongrator.

The sound of the Lady Inquisitor's passing filled the antechamber, servos in her power armor whining with each step. At the end of the antechamber stood a statue of Malcador the Sigillite, adorned with the Recongrator's watchwords - 'Only the Emperor is Infallible'.

Beside him, a powered door slid open, spilling out curls of grey mist. The Lady Inquisitor gestured for Ira to stay behind before entering and spreading her arms wide. As the doors slammed shut, the mist sterilized her garments and person while servitors bound to the wall scanned her retinas and weapons.

"Identity Recognized and approved," one of the servitors growled from the vox-box fused to its mouth.

"I bring a guest along today, a new member of our order," she said.

"Request recognized," the servitor said. "Processing... approved. Step forward, Acolyte."

Ira obeyed, stepping through the doors the instant they opened. The servitor pronounced Ira fit to proceed.

Together, the Inquisitor and her acolyte proceeded into the heart of the facility.

Within, the hall was far less grand than the antechamber, but still impressed the sense of age and gravity upon its occupants. Lined with cogitators, humming pipes and, crackling power lines, the Headquarters thrummed with power, information, and untold bytes of data.

She passed the entrance to the Laboratory wing, a colossal steel door behind which a host of adepts slaved away at a multitude of projects. At the center of the door was an embossed clockwork symbol, most likely placed there long ago by allied elements of the Mechanicus. Ira burbled in binary for a moment, a quick and curious burst of static. No doubt the wonders hidden away behind those doors had piqued his interest.

They passed by many such doors, each one hiding their own purpose and kilometers of tunneling. Before long, The Lady Inquisitor reached her destination - the office of the Lord Inquisitor. The door that led to her mentor's chambers was much smaller than the others, its face only bearing a single 'I'.

It opened.

Behind a simple half-moon desk and an unassuming cogitator sat The Hallowed Inquisitor, Grandmaster of the Recongrators and the Lady Inquisitor's mentor of fifteen years. The Lady Inquisitor bowed steeply, bidding her acolyte to do the same.

"Such deference!" The Hallowed Inquisitor boomed, a wide grin on his face. "An unnecessary display, I assure you." He had received a juvenant treatment in the years since they'd last met. His ebony skin, once sallow and lined with wrinkles now shone with renewed youth. Though the crinkles around his almond-shaped eyes had deepened somewhat, the eyes themselves still shone a pale green. On his person, he wore simple vestments - a leather hardsuit and a long black overcoat, no different than what he wore all those years ago.

"Master, such deference is required," the Lady Inquisitor insisted.

The Hallowed Inquisitor shrugged, still wearing a shining grin. "If you insist. Though," he said, turning to appraise Ira, "you'd do well not to terrify our newest members," he added. "What is your name, Brother?"

"Ira Illustein," Ira declared, a fist over his breast. "Ready to serve in the name of a brighter Imperium."

The Hallowed Inquisitor chuckled. "He's certainly your student, Lady."

"I received your summons," she said, meeting his gaze. It was like adamantium. "What is your will?"

Her master stood to his full height, a towering two meters. "While the times are indeed dire," he began, "there is another, slightly more joyous purpose for my summons."

The Lady Inquisitor did not let the shock show on her face.

"Truly? It was my understanding that a summons meant a ruinous tarot or a disaster had taken place," the Lady Inquisitor said. "But you speak of... joy?"

Reaching into his desk, the Hallowed Inquisitor retrieved a large vellum scroll bearing two stamps of elegant red wax. With a dramatic flourish, he handed it to his pupil.

_The seals…_

A breath hitched in the Lady Inquisitor's throat. _Our allied Master Inquisitors from the neighboring Segmentums… _One bore the Inquisitorial emblem fashioned into a resolute rook - the sigil of Master Inquisitor Silroth. The other bore a more imposing sight - the symbol of the Inquisition clad in bloodied thorns - the sigil of Master Quora.

The Lady Inquisitor reached for the vellum, but could not reach it.

"Almost forgot," the Hallowed Inquisitor said, retrieving another item from his desk. With a savored relish, he drizzled wax upon the document.

"You cannot mean-" The Lady Inquisitor whispered.

"But I do." With those words, the Hallowed Inquisitor pressed his own seal into the wax. "Take what is yours, my Lady." He smiled.

Trembling fingers retrieved the document. The Hallowed Inquisitor's seal still steamed, wisps of white curling around the engraved 'I' surrounded by skulls. She opened it, confirming her suspicions.

"You stand promoted, Weiss Schnee," her mentor said. "You are now the Lady Highest, a Lord above your peers."

"You honor me with such a gift," The Lady Highest said, removing her hat so that she might bow more deeply.

"It is more than a mere gift, pupil mine," The Hallowed Inquisitor said with a smile, always a smile. "I intend for you to replace me one day. Not only as a Grandmaster Inquisitor in the Segmentum Obscurus, but as the Head of the Recongrators."

"This… this is why you summoned me," The Lady Highest realized. _Impossible… does he truly hold me in such high regard?_

"This, and so much more," he replied. Tapping a few runes on his cogitator, a holographic map flickered into existence above them. It bathed the office in a dark green hue. Under the light, her master's eyes _glowed_. He gestured to a few runes that flitted about frequently traveled warp-routes. "There is to a meeting here, within the next week. There, we will decide the fate of the Recongrators, and the Imperium as well. The Thirteenth Black Crusade is not the only grim tidings I have received," he said, face darkening. "Many of our brothers and sisters have been silenced as of late. Some of their acolytes were able to recoup the losses, but it is still an alarming trend."

"That is troubling," the Lady Highest said. "I myself was attacked by a Dark Eldar raiding party… I wonder if such events are connected."

The Hallowed Inquisitor growled. "I would not be surprised. It would be just like our enemies to resort to what they despise, just for the slightest advantage."

"There are other things we should discuss as well," the Lady Highest said, hand hovering over her satchel. "I have happened upon an unprecedented windfall regarding Josephu-"

Her mentor held his hand up, and her words died on her lips. "In time. We have a week before the others arrive. Before that, there are some rites that need attending."

"Rites?" The Lady Highest asked.

"Regarding your promotion. Not for the eyes of the uninitiated, I'm afraid," he added, glancing at Ira.

"Understood my Lord," Ira said.

"I have summoned a servitor," the Hallowed Inquisitor said. "It will show you to the dormitories. I assure you they will suit your every need."

After bowing once more, Ira departed. Once the door had slammed shut with a hiss of steam, pale green eyes found the Lady Highest, boring into her like blades of Dust. Under them, she began to feel like the weakling Weiss Schnee once more.

"What rites are required of me?" She asked. _I cannot pretend to know what rites would be more important than information regarding Josephus. _

"Follow," he said simply. Tapping a few more runes on his cogitator, a wall panel slid aside, revealing a steep staircase that burrowed ever lower in the earth. "Tell me what you recall of our history… the Recongrators," he clarified, as if he had to.

"Several thousand years ago," the Lady Highest recited, "we were but a scattered handful of idealists, lacking a coherent purpose or methodology. The Imperium stood well enough without us, though the seeds of corruption and decay began to grow fruit."

They descended into the dark. The Hallowed Inquisitor plucked a spear of steel from the wall. Once his hand encircled it, a bright pulse of emerald flame burst forth from its end. The Lady Highest swallowed. That color flame unnerved her more than she would care to admit. It meant dark things. Secrets.

The torch-staff clanked upon each step, the Hallowed Inquisitor unwilling to let it rest.

"And what changed, Lady Highest," he asked. "What transformed us from an idea to what we are today?"

"The council," the Lady Highest answered, her eyes parsing the darkness. "Four Inquisitors who set down a code of ethics for all Recongrators to obey… a list of objectives that must be obtained for the Imperium to redeem itself in the eyes of the Emperor."

"The council, yes." the Hallowed Inquisitor said. "Though they are something of a myth."

The Lady Highest arched an eyebrow. _I figured the Recongrators were hiding something, and it seems that now is when it shall be revealed..._

"I'm afraid the truth is something rather more... ludicrous," her mentor said. "There was but one man, and he alone built the foundations that we stand upon."

They reached the bottom if the stairs, a full ten stories by the Lady Highest's estimation. Extending the torch, the Hallowed Inquisitor touched it to the wall. Twin trails of green flame burst into existence, running the length of the hall she found herself in. Torches topped in caged braziers ignited, each bearing the same all-too-familiar fire.

At the end of the hall, the twin flame trails connected, illuminating a solitary statue of a bespectacled man wrought in onyx and platinum, seated in an imposing throne of gilded clockwork.

The word 'impossible' passed Weiss Schnee's lips, but there was no wind to give them voice. Unconsciously, her thoughts slipped to the relic aboard the _Scythe of Morning_.

_Emperor protect me._

"Behold, Lady Highest... our founder: the Clockwork Inquisitor, known to his pupils by the simple name of Ozpin."

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!**

**For all of you familiar with 40k lore, you were probably wondering (or at least noticed) why the Recongrators are a much more clearly defined force in AWoBE than they are in canon. Now... now you have the beginnings of an answer!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you next time! Only have about one more chapter of set-up before the shit hits the fan again!**


	52. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: Sorry this one's short, especially after the hiatus... hopefully you enjoy it regardless!**

* * *

**Book II: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 51: Calm Before the Storm**

_"It was one of the most beautiful planet's I've ever seen... and the worst one I've ever landed on." - Captain Darron Marius_

After two and a half months in warp transit... it was finally time.

"In the pipe, five-by-five," the pilot called over the roar of the Valkyrie's descent. The craft jumbled and shook, jostling its contents. Stretching her arms, Yang unfurled Ember Celica, watching the weapon click into place. She'd spent the past months fixing it up, making sure the Mechanicus spooks didn't do anything funky to it. Thankfully, everything seemed in order. She fixed her Sergeant's beret in place, the black felt cap fitting snugly atop a mess of golden curls. Besides checking over her weapon, she' spent most of her time in the weight room, more than she ever had before. It felt good. It felt right. Cracking her knuckles, a smile spread across her face. _Gained almost ten pounds of muscle too_.

Beside her, Amat tucked his pistol into a holster on his hip. Like his rifle, it was comically over-sized. Yang gave him the thumbs up, throwing him a sly grin. Their compatriots were in fouler moods, scowling into folded hands as they whispered bleak prayers. They left their masks in their packs, as they had no one to terrify today.

It felt weird going a planet at peace. Once the bay door opened, there would be no hell-scape to greet her, no powerful miasma of ozone and death-rot to assault her. _It's not bad weird_, Yang decided. _Just… different_.

_I wonder what Weiss has in store for us. _After almost a year in the Imperium, she didn't know what to expect. Something was off about the mission, she knew that much for sure… even the kasrkin agreed. There's no way the Inquisitor would send her most trusted guards, her assassin, and her only... _friend_ on a mission that she herself was not also attending.

_Whatever her reasons, I'm sure she has them. _Their parting had not been gentle… though Yang had found a small measure of satisfaction when she'd managed to crack Weiss' stiff facade, make her bleed. _She's not untouchable_.

The light in the shuttle bay switched to green, and the pilot let the Valkyrie down easy. Yang felt the too-familiar pull of a halted descent, and braced herself on one of the straps that hung from the railing above her. Amat did the same.

With the groaning hiss of pneumatic doors, Gartenwald revealed itself to them. It sucked Yang's breath away. Though shrouded in a purple-orange dusk, she could see hundreds of forested, snow-dusted mountains stretching out before them, jagged and spilling over with waterfalls. Mist from the frothing waters caught the suns, a gold-orange haze that seemed… familiar somehow.

A rush of fresh air buffeted the Inquisitorial party. Closing her eyes, Yang relished the thin, crisp air. After the polluted Uriel and the stale, recycled fare of the _Ascendant Dawn_, it was one of the best things she ever tasted.

"Go, go, go," Darron cried, waving them forward. In pairs, the party leapt from the craft. Yang's boots hit the dirt first, jet-wash blowing her hair into a torrent of snapping golden locks. Dropping to her knee and sweeping the landing zone with her lasgun, she waved Amat forward. He scanned the nearest treeline, pistol tucked against his chest. She pivoted, twisting her wrists as Ember Celica unfolded around them, locking into place.

Before them stood a mansion, one that crowned the mountain bluff they stood upon. It was typical of Imperial architecture, all flying buttresses and soaring rockcrete walls, complete with large stained-glass windows reinforced with rebar.

A detachment of official-looking people stood by the towering front door, wringing their hands as they watched the kasrkin spill out of the Valkyrie. _The_ _Planetary Governor_, Yang remembered. This was his mansion they were using for the meet-up, a respectable enough distance from the nearby city at the base of the mountain… all in order to discourage eavesdroppers.

She could see the city from here, a collection of twinkling lights basking in the dying light of twin suns, built on the side of a winding river that snaked off into the horizon. Besides some obvious marks of Imperial authority (an enormous cathedral being foremost among them), the city reminded her of Aesbrough, if a bit smaller in scale.

"Fall in everyone," Darron ordered, couching his hellgun against his shoulder. Yang obeyed, tearing her eyes away from the city. As Chung soared away, the party marched on, approaching the greeting party, their boots scraping against the winding dirt road that led to the mansion.

"Lord Governor Aarsgaard, correct," Darron called out as they neared.

"Correct," a man said, stepping forward. He was tall, with streaks of grey running through his platinum-blonde hair. Dressed in matte-navy blue finery, a fur coat, and resplendent with golden Imperial lapel decorations, he cut an impressive figure. Even so, the kasrkin Captain dwarfed the man.

"We're here under the orders of the Lady Inquisitor," Darron said, throwing his fist up. Yang stopped in her tracks.

Following Darron around felt weird. She hadn't been the best at following Jorvis around, and the whole 'obey at all times' M.O. of the Guard always rubbed her the wrong way. Now that she was under the Captain's thumb, it grated more than usual. Though she was no leader, Yang had been wanting to flex her Sergeant muscles for awhile. Even if Gamma platoon waited in orbit, she felt weird being away from them. They needed her. Her friends needed her.

"You bear her seal?" The Governor asked.

Darron presented it, a bold red 'I' in the center of a twelve-pointed white-gold snowflake. At the sight of it, the Governor's officials bowed, sweat beading their brows. "As discussed on comms, we require the use of your manor until further notice," the Captain announced.

"Of course, my Lord," the Governor said, fingers folding together. "If you need anything else, please do not be afraid to ask."

"We need the premises to be empty," Chera said, resting her arm against her hellgun. "And a list of any security devices you have on site."

"O-of course," the Governor stammered, the golden chains on his shoulders rattling. "Allow me to collect my family, and we'll leave you in peace."

Amat watched the procession silently, his eyes focused upon the Governor's retinue. Yang kept her eye on the assassin. She could tell he was thinking about something, but the mask made it impossible to tell exactly what that was. _Why can't he just leave it off?_ _It's not like he refuses to take it off anymore… _Sighing, she watched the Governor gather up what he needed from his mansion.

His family emerged - his wife, two younger boys, and a baby girl, bundled up in luxuriant pink swaddling. They were shaking with fear. Upon seeing the Inquisitorial party, the boys ducked behind their mother's skirts. Grinning, Yang tipped her beret at him, hoping to diffuse the tension somewhat. It didn't help.

The encounter didn't last long, as the Governor fled with his family and household guard in a manner of minutes. The mansion was theirs. _He seemed awfully prepared to bug out_. Yang didn't dwell on it. Night was falling, and a chill crept into the air. Not that it bothered her at all. _At least we get to kick it in a big mansion for a while._

The door was two giant slabs of cast-iron gunmetal, filigreed with fancy spiral designs. It opened reluctantly, revealing the interior.

"Damn," Yang whispered, elbowing Amat. "Look at this place." Like the rest of Gartenwald, it was suitably impressive. Though the exterior implied furnishings more along the Imperial schools of thought, the mansion was quite cozy. Rich red carpets covered hardwood floors, and a few pieces of leather-clad furniture stood in front of a roaring fireplace. "It's like some kind of ski lodge."

Though the place was nice, it did have some obvious leanings towards Imperial thought. Instead of taxidermied animals or other such trophies, golden skulls studded the walls, much like the ones that dotted the _Ascendant Dawn_'s chapel. A great portrait of the Emperor sat above the fireplace. He was standing atop a titanic ork, a foot crushing its gigantic head underneath.

There were a few concessions to normalcy, as between the skulls hung some family portraits and picts, full of dour-looking lords and their unsmiling spawn.

Yang threw her duffel bag down on a couch and herself soon after. She sank into the soft leather, relishing in something that wasn't Munitorum standard for once.

"Negative on that, Sergeant," Darron growled, kicking her feet off the armrests. "We're fortifying this place first. Then you can laze about."

Yang rolled her eyes, but sat up anyway. "We're just meeting up with some other agents. Why do we need to hunker down?"

"Because other agents aren't always our friends," Chera said, unbuckling her rucksack. "We've killed heretics by the hundreds, sure, but we've-"

"Enough, Lieutenant," Darron said, his eyes narrowing. "It's not your place to question orders, Sergeant, but obey them. So hop to it."

_I could break you, old man. Your wife too._

"Sergeant..."  
"On it, _sir_," Yang said, unstrapping her power sword and resting it on top of her stuff. _Weiss is gonna pay for making me mind these assholes._

"Amat, why don't you go find a good nest to set up in?" Darron said. "Overwatch on this entire valley would be ideal."

Amat nodded, and vanished into the mansion's bowels. _Damn it_, Yang thought. _There goes my lifeline_. At least she could raise him on the microbead. In order to antagonize the kasrkin as much as possible, she scooped up the largest couch she could find, one big enough to fit Sister Eleven. Then she picked up its twin, resting them on her shoulders as she strode over to the largest windows.

"Show-off," one of the kasrkin muttered.

"Hey now," Yang said, unfazed, "less talking more fortifying. Wouldn't want to upset the Captain now, would we?"

/

After boarding up the atrium's windows, turning over some couches to use as cover, and barricading the front door, Yang explored the mansion under the pretense of 'requisitioning additional supplies'. It was a stately manse, to be sure. Though the local dialect of gothic didn't make much sense to her, it seemed as though this place served as the Planetary Governor's home during his tenure. And there were a _lot _of governors. Yang lost count around forty portraits, each frame more aged and withered than the last, their oils cracked and withered.

The halls weren't as open as the atrium, but were just as warm and inviting. Some, though cramped, were still grand, displaying some rather impressive landscapes and holographic displays. A common theme, Yang realize, was tanks. Tanks shooting at xenos, tanks blowing up more grotesque tanks, people with swords standing on top of tanks. Made sense, since their sole important export to the Imperium were Leman Russ regiments. Odd that there weren't any manufactorums spewing out smog in the city below.

Then, Yang found it. _The kitchen_. Licking her lips, her boots skidded across the hardwood floors, screeching to a halt right in front of an aluminum-plated fridge. She'd had an unfulfilling gelatinous meal before descent, but she'd be damned to the warp before she let an actual meal pass her by.

Her hand hovered above the handle. _Am I seriously going to raid their fridge?_

_Psh, fuck yeah I am._

Somehow, she didn't think the Governor's family would mind. In fact, the Governor looked like he was about to piss his pants, and his family just looked relieved that they weren't getting lined up against a wall.

_Is that the kind of reputation the Inquisition has? You know… the organization I belong to? And what was that about not all Inquisitors being friendly? _Yang knew she poisoned the one on Elodia, but she had no idea how deep the supposed corruption went. _How many of her comrades has she killed? _The question was almost enough to spoil her appetite.

Almost.

She found a large bowl of spiced noodles, wrapped in clear plastic. _Hello, leftovers._ She didn't have any chopsticks or silverware, but that wasn't going to stop her. Brushing her fingers off on her tunic, she dug them into the bowl and helped herself.

They were surprisingly good. _Terra, even boiled leather tastes good compared to Guard rations. _The intrusive thought died away, because even compared to regular standards, it was quality food. _Fit for a Governor_, she thought, smirking. She fit another fistful of noodles into her mouth, thoughts about Weiss forgotten.

"Getting into trouble?" Amat asked, materializing at the kitchen door. Yang jumped, startled by the intrusion into her private meal. She slupred up a noodle, grinning all the while.

"Depends if you're going to try and stop me," Yang said, twirling her finger around another mouthful of food.

"Get between you and food?" Amat asked, lurching into the kitchen, red-tinted visor parsing each cabinet. "I'm not suicidal."

Yang chuckled. "Damn straight… you want some?" She said, extending a handful of noodles towards the assassin. He opened up a counter, exposing a bin of polished silverware.

"I think I will. Like a civilized person," he added, plucking a fork from among its brethren.

"Ooh, fanshy," Yang said, her mouth full of food. "Didja cut up your gel-paste too?" Once more, Amat didn't reply, removing his mask instead. He'd shaved. "Looking good, assassin-man," Yang said, pushing the bowl his way. He grunted, digging his fork into the offered food. "How is it?"

"Good," he allowed. "Strange texture. Although I find it odd you're so willing to plunder the Governor's food."  
"Didn't you have a perch to find?" Yang asked. Amat shrugged.

"There's a tower on the north wing of the mansion, right above the garage. I just figured I'd make sure you weren't ripping the Captain's limbs off," he said with a flickering smile.

Yang paused.

"Oh, I didn't think you were actually going to do that," Amat said, trying to catch some noodles. "I was joking… did I do it right? Sometimes it's hard to tell."

"Did you say 'garage'?" Yang asked, scooting forward.

"Correct. I didn't look in there, but-" Amat didn't have a chance to finish his reply (or his noodles), as Yang was already sprinting off to the north wing. It'd been so long since Yang saw anything other than tanks and Basilisks, _It's almost too much to hope… but… could there be? _She licked her lips, the strange spiced-noodle taste flaring up once more.

"Yang?" Amat called down the hallways. Yang skidded on her heels. "It's that way," he said, pointing to her right. Beaming, she threw him a salute and dashed down the hall. Sure enough, there was a big double-door with the words 'Garage' above them, printed in big, bold letters.

Yang pushed the doors open, and grinned. It seemed as the the Governor had a penchant for tinkering. The sparse, concrete walls were lined with toolboxes, resting quietly in the dark while their master was away. Flicking the lights, ranks of fluorescent bulbs flickered on, illuminating the contents.

She was disappointed there was no bike, but in the center of the garage there was something else… an amorphous lump of canvas with four wheels sticking out from underneath it. Yang took a deep breath.

_No fucking way. _With a sweep of her arms, she tore the canvas away, revealing the most beautiful thing she'd seen in months.

It was a convertible, sporty as all hell and painted a rich shade of scarlet. Two black racing lines ran down its side, hand painted with extreme care. Tremulously, Yang ran her fingers along them. It was so clean, she could see her reflection in the paint job. She licked her lips before letting out a low whistle.

The body was a bit blockier, with square wheel wells and a sheer grill. A polished supercharger stuck out from the hood, polished to a mirror shine.

"This Governor knows how to live," Yang said, inspecting the interior. The upholstery was rich black leather, the same kind that adorned the furniture in the atrium. As expected, there were some differences in design between Remnant and Imperial engineers - the ignition was on the armrest by the stick shift - but the basic principles were the same. Steering wheel, radio, speedometer, fuel gauge, brake and gas pedals. _All the important parts are in the right place._

"Good thing Magos Tyrham can't see this," Yang added. "Pretty sure all this tinkering would stick in his metal craw."

"I doubt he'd care," Amat said. "Nor would the Mechanicus. If they had to investigate every chop shop in the Imperium, they'd be swamped in bureaucracy and busy-work before they could say 'tech-heresy'."

"Guess that makes sense," Yang said. "But _damn_, just look at this thing!"

"We're going on a ride… aren't we?" Amat asked.

Yang grinned.

* * *

**A/N: Alright everyone, that was officially the LAST chapter of set-up! From here on out, it's gonna be balls-to-the-wall insanity... cliff-hangers and reveals galore! BUCKLE UP, MOTHERFUCKERS.**

**Thanks for your patience everyone! Until next time!**


	53. Thank You

**A/N: Big chapter today! :D**

* * *

**Book II: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 52: Thank You**

"_The vast majority of Imperial planets are supremely uninteresting. Not every system is full of overpopulated hive-worlds or radioactive deathworlds. Most of them just… exist. Filled with citizens who go about their lives, and know of the Imperium only as the tax-takers that arrive every decade or so." - Master Loxillion Kandar of the Estate Imperium, regarding a recent census._

Yang waited all of two days before cabin fever could no longer be ignored. If she spent another minute sitting at a window and watching for their contact, she'd go insane. Stripping off her flak armor and beret, she laid them down in the spare bedroom she'd made her own. Rooting around in the bag she'd packed for the mission, she dug up her old Remnant duds.

It'd been months since she'd worn them, but they were still clean and ready to go. Yang grinned as she pulled her old rider's shorts over her legs. _Finally, some breathing room. _Her old bra was a welcome relief as well… the Munitorum made allowances for every size, sure, but nothing could beat a custom fit.

Grinning, she checked herself out in the standing mirror. _Looking good_. She flexed. _Definitely more of a beefcake than before_. Before leaving, she made sure to buckle the straps that held her powersword and lasgun in place. On her wrists, Ember Celica was safe and secure, polished to a mirror-shine.

With a wide, toothy grin, she tucked a pack of lho into her breast pocket. _Time for a joy ride_.

Descending the grand staircase that led to the living room, she caught the wary stares of a few kasrkin.

"Sergeant," Darron called to her from his place by the front door. "Where's your flak armor?"

"I'm ducking out for a bit," Yang replied, hand resting on the bandolier-strap across her chest. "Don't worry, I won't be gone long. Just gonna do some… recon." _Yeah, that sounds legit. _"We've been here two days and haven't put any eyes on the town below us."

"Grox-fucking-shit," Darron spat. "You're not going anywhere. I was very clear in the briefing. We're staying here until we meet the other Inquisitor's party."

"Sorry Captain, but we be both know that's not going to happen," Yang said, reaching the bottom of the staircase. "I'm taking Amat and the Governor's car."

Even though he was almost two dozen yards away, Yang could see the veins popping on the Captain's forehead. "What part of 'we must stay put' is not clear to you, Sergeant? Are you incapable of following orders?" Darron demanded. Amat strode into the room, shutting the door behind him silently.

"Not entirely," the assassin said, facing Yang. She shot him a toothy grin. "She's just very willful."

"I don't give a shit," Darron said. "Orders are orders. She stays here."

"I see no harm in it sir," Amat said. "It's been two days since our arrival. If the Inquisitor's party was waiting for us, we would have heard from them by now. If they arrive in the next few hours, the Sergeant still has her microbead. And I have one as well."

Yang nodded solemnly. "What he said," she added, jerking her thumb at the assassin. Chera approached her, hellgun across her chest. Her violet eyes regarded Yang with suspicion, but Yang showed her nothing but easy geniality. "This really isn't anything worth fighting over," Yang said. "I'll be gone a few hours, if that."

"I don't like it," Chera said as she faced her husband. "But perhaps letting her go is a good idea. She's been wearing a trench into the floor these past few days."

Darron considered the advice. "Fine," he spat. "This is still ridiculous. You're a soldier, Throne damn it."

_Am I?_ Yang wondered. _I have so many more titles in the Imperium than I did on Remnant. Guardsmen. Psyker, Representative, Sergeant…. Monster._

She shook the thought away in a flutter of golden curls.

"Get out of here," Darron said, waving them away. Nodding at Amat, she motioned him away from the living room. When they'd escaped into the hallways, she let out a small sigh of relief. A calloused fist rang against the Assassin's shoulder.

"Thanks for the support, man."

"Of course," Amat said. "I don't understand what your plan is, but I figured you could use a break from watch duty. It doesn't suit you well."

Yang giggled. "That it does not."

"What's your plan then? What are we scouting?" Amat asked.

Beaming as bright as the sun, she threw a boot into the garage doors, revealing the Governor's car. "Amat my friend, there _is_ no plan."

A muffled "Oh," escaped his mask. Digging into her pocket, she brandished the keys she'd liberated from a nearby drawer.

"Oh yeah. Buckle up, assassin-man, we're going for a ride." Amat nodded in that maddening way of his, the way that betrayed nothing of his emotions or thoughts. "Really? No reaction?"

He shrugged, unslinging his rifle as he climbed over the door and into the passenger seat. "I saw the way you looked at this car. You were drooling."

"I was not!" Yang protested, crossing her arms defiantly.

"My mask's HUD has video recording and playback capabilities. I can confirm that you did." Amat said, regarding her through the crimson of his visor.

"I didn't know the Temple taught you how to be smug ass," Yang said, flicking the garage-door switch. It opened slowly, revealing the driveway the Inquisitorial party had landed in just a few days ago. A cement path that wound around a bend, snaking into the forest that coated the mountain.

"They didn't," Amat said, as if he was realizing something.

"They teach you how to drive then?" She asked, hopping into the driver's seat.

"I'm certified to operate all standard-pattern Munitorum vehicles," Amat replied. "Though this model is… unfamiliar."

Yang gaped. "You don't know how to drive _stick_? I always knew the Temple was bad, but this just takes the cake." Licking her lips, she appraised the luxuriant interior. The ebony leather was just as soft as it looked two days ago, and the steering wheel was polished to mirror shine - enough so that she could see her own reflection, radiant and full of golden hair.

"Now, I'm more used to a motorcycle," she purred, tracing the ignition socket with the key. "But don't worry - Momma Xiao Long knows how to treat a lady." After slipping the key in and pressing on the clutch, the engine roared to life. Its purr was throaty, yet refined and even - a well tuned piece of engineering. "Alright, let's see what you can do."

Amat buckled himself in and pulled his mask off, resigned to his fate. Yang waggled her eyebrows at him, but he betrayed nothing. She tucked her sword and lasgun under the seat. With any luck, they wouldn't be necessary.

Shifting the car into first gear, she started off slow, enough to get her bearings. It was responsive and tight.

"Can't believe you don't know stick," Yang muttered. Amat said nothing. _Emperor does it bug me when he does that_. Realizing she just cursed with the Emperor's name, she paused, letting her foot off the gas by a hair.

"Everything okay?" Amat asked, his head unmoving as they proceeded down the driveway. Though his body remained motionless, his eyes flicked about like an addict's. If Yang didn't know better, she'd peg him as the nervous type.

"Yeah," she said, switching into second gear as the driveway widened. "Just realized it's been about a year since I arrived in the Imperium," she said. Most of the time was spent in warp transit, plagued by nightmares and the endless whispering. Weiss' glyphs helped... kinda.

But that wasn't the issue.

The issue lied in the fact that the Imperium was her home now. Even worse, she _felt_ at home. Ever since the battle with the orks on Elodia, she knew it. The chaos, the horror, the scale of the violence and blood-pumping thrill of unparalleled battle. She felt more alive here than she had since Ruby died. _Maybe_, a part of her whispered, _maybe even before that_.

"I miss Remnant," she said, wearing a small smile. "Wish I could weekend there or something, you know? See my friends." _Anyone other than whoever Weiss became_. Ros' reluctant smile flashed before her eyes, and a pang of loss struck her, more powerful than a bolter shell.

Amat considered his words, watching the trees roll past. "I'm... happy you're here Yang. At least, I think that's the word I should use here." He moved his hand as if to make a gesture, but decided against it. "The Imperium is a better place with you in it."

Yang looked at him. It could be a trick of the light, of the sun shining through the tall conifers that stretched up towards the sea-blue sky… but for a second, it looked like Amat's cheeks were a shade redder than before.

Her reminiscing died under a brilliant smile. "Amat, you big ol' softy." Reaching the end of the driveway, she saw the road open up, smooth and embedded in the mountainside. Before she let the beast loose, she fiddled with the dashboard, turning knobs and flicking switches. The radio crackled to life with a burst of static. Took her awhile before she could find one transmitting in a form of gothic she could understand.

"-and though it has been confirmed that the vessel belongs to the Inquisition," a DJ said, his voice a smooth, concerned baritone, "the _Ascendant Dawn_ is, and I'm quoting its Captain here - 'merely stopping by for rest and repairs'. Sleep a little easier out there, listeners."

The car Yang had liberated seemed far away now as she fiddled with the connection. There was something… entrancing about the radio. The DJ was just a normal person, working a normal job. The people of Gartenwald lived peaceful, normal lives.

"Another quick PSA," the caster continued, "migration season started yesterday, so watch get your pict-stealers ready. Look, but don't touch! And now, for some music."

A song started on the radio. A _good_ was rough, uncut garage rock... some twangy blues with a rockin' guitar line and generic-as-hell lyrics. Even a galaxy away, musicians knew the same chords. Yang's smile widened. Glancing over at Amat, she took her aviators off her lapel.

"You ready to ride, assassin-man?"

"I am suddenly very concerned."

"Duly noted," Yang said, donning her sunglasses. Throwing the car into fourth gear, she stomped on the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, drowning out the radio for the briefest of moments. As it peeled out, Amat's grip tightened on the door, hard enough to dent the metal.

Yang laughed as the car devoured the road underneath them. She switched to fifth gear as the trees flicked past, hair flapping behind her.

_Emperor, it feels good to go fast again._ _Still no bike, but hey, I'll make do. _A hundred meters down the road, a sharp turn screamed towards them, a thin steel barrier between them and a sheer cliff.

Amat whipped around to face her, his eyes wide and full of apprehension. It was the most honest expression she'd ever seen him wear. She laughed, yanking on the handbrake and pulling on the steering wheel.

Just as she expected, the handling was excellent. It turned on a dime, just quickly enough so that the back bumper scraped against the railing.

"Emperor protect me," Amat mumbled. Yang didn't hear him, she was too busy drumming on the steering wheel, head bobbing in time to the music. Throwing the car into sixth, she tore down the road.

"Goddamn," Yang cried over the howling wind. "Now this is music!" She laughed even harder. Amat was less amused. She punched his shoulder, still grinning. "C'mon man, I felt like I was gonna die in that mansion. Let's live a little, huh?"

"This is your idea of living?"

"Hell yeah," Yang said. "You know we wanted to make a band? Team RWBY?"

"You mean… the Lady Inquisitor?" This puzzled the assassin, his brow furrowing. "A band?"

Yang chuckled, waving his concerns away with the back of her hand. "Yeah dude! Oh come on, have you heard her sing?"

"Never."

"She didn't show you any of her performances? Like… with the memory thing?"

"Not one."

"You're missing out, man!" Yang said, running a hand through the hair that streamed behind her. "Voice of an angel. Coulda gone professional if she didn't want to be a Huntress."

"A band?" Amat repeated, still stuck on the concept.

"Yeah man! We had it all worked out. I was gonna learn the drums, Ruby the guitar... Blake woulda been right at home on the bass. Fight baddies by day, rock out by night. Fuck man," she said as she unearthed all the buried memories. "That woulda been the shit." She snickered. "At least Weiss still has the leather getup right."

"I wonder what else my Lady hasn't shown me…" Amat said, looking out the windshield. They weren't in danger of driving off a cliff anymore, and he seemed a tad more accustomed to the speed.

"Probably a lot. She defrosted a lot as the years went on. Still didn't open up too much though, you know?" Yang shook her head. "Just the way she was raised. I'll be honest," she said, realizing it as the words tumbled from her lips. "She really got a shit hand in life. Weiss was a good person. Still is, I think. Deep down. Her heart's in the right place, even if it has frozen over. What do you think?"

"My Lady?" Amat asked. "She is-"

"Yeah, yeah," Yang said, peering out the corner of her aviators. "I get the same spiel from the Woadians all the time. About how wonderful and strong she is. But that's not what I want to know, Amat." She took a moment to savor the radio, the drum solo that shook the car on each bass kick. "No, no no… what do you _think_? Your opinion."

"I mean… she's pious," Amat started, clearly uncomfortable. "Besides her witchery, in every metric available to the Imperial citizen… she is a perfect person."

"Sensing a 'but' here," Yang said, shifting gears once more.

"But," Amat continued. "She prays all the time, but I never hear the words. When her kasrkin leave her, she seems to slump. The Lady Inquisitor is drowning," he said, locking eyes with Yang. "Drowning in sorrow. Every step she takes only pulls her down further." He sighed. He realized he sighed and seemed confused for a moment, as if to say '_oh yeah, this is something people do_'. "I used to see her as nothing but a voice to be obeyed and respected. An Inquisitor. Things were different back then," he said. He still wasn't comfortable speaking openly. Yang rested her hand on his shoulder, indicating he should go on.

"Now I pity her," Amat said. "And I don't know why. I barely even understand what it's like to _feel_ pity. But I know I pity my Lady."

Yang said nothing, choosing instead to squeeze her friend's shoulder. "I'm happy to have you along Amat. I know you still love the Temple, but no one deserves to be shut off from what makes them human. For now I say fuck the Vindicares. You're with me, man. It's good to see you opening up. I had a bitch of a time finding out what was under that mask, you know."

Amat chuckled. "Sorry about that."

"You're good, dude." They tore through a tunnel, and their connection fizzled. The lights rushed over them, one after another. Like strobe lights.

"Why though?" He asked.

"I'm a curious person," Yang replied. "And you piqued my interest. You come shimmering out of a burning city, smoking rifle in hand and an ass like chiseled marble… and you don't know why I might be interested?"

"Not really," Amat said. "I don't understand what you mean though."

Yang laughed. "What, the ass comment? Come on, like you haven't been checking me out on the sly!" She elbowed him in the ribs, but Amat ignored the jab, turning something over in his mind. Yang shot him a grin before returning her attention to the road. Noticing he hadn't confirmed her question yet, she did a double-take.

"Holy shit... you haven't!" She laughed, even though the realization confused her deeply. _Why? Is he not into chicks? Possible, but it's more likely the Temple gave him a snipping of some sort_. Of all the things to take from a person, that seemed one of the most horrifying to Yang. _Let's see how he responds to some teasing_. _Maybe he just doesn't like blondes,_ she thought with a smirk. "I mean, if you thought I was ugly, you shoulda said something!"

"What?" Amat asked, shocked from his thoughts. "Oh Emperor no, I just-" He looked over at Yang, and noticed her smile. "Oh… you weren't serious."

"Not entirely." Yang said with a wink. "Your reaction told me everything I needed to know." _So very different from the men and women back on Remnant… Woadians too. _Those Xiao Long genes had treated her well, and it was weird not getting stared at.

As the mountain road leveled out, Yang merged onto a highway. It was eight lanes wide and sparsely populated, with only a few boxy trucks hissing by. The road signs weren't readable (they were all in the local Gothic dialect), but Yang could make out the city lights from the road, twinkling in the orange pre-dawn glow. She knew where she was going.

"Fancy a drink?" Yang asked, speeding past a lagging tanker-truck. It honked at them, so Yang threw it the Woadian two-fingered salute. Probably didn't mean anything here, but it felt right.

"Will it taste like amasec?"

Yang giggled. "Nah, nothing hard tonight. We have lots of important waiting to do, remember?"

"I don't really have a choice though, do I?"

"Nope."

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" Amat asked, inspecting the coat Yang had tossed him. It was a simple brown-leather bomber's jacket with some wool surrounding the collar. "Where'd you get this?"

"Found it," Yang half-lied. She _found_ it in a b-rate thrift store, but the assassin didn't have to know she'd stolen it. "You can't walk around in just your cat-suit... unfortunately. Look," she said, nodding over his shoulder. A couple youths were ogling the two Inquisitorial agents, and a few of them took out some scroll-like objects to snap a few photos. Amat raised the jacket to block the unwanted attention.

"Okay, fair point," he said, slipping his arms through the sleeves. Yang zipped him up and smoothed out the shoulders. His legs were still obviously cat-suit, but he was far more inconspicuous than before. Could probably pass the legs off as designer jeans or something.

"Looking good, assassin-man. Unf." Nothing new, but he deserved to know. His hair had grown in the two months they spent in transit, though he still kept it well-trimmed. Still sandy-blond, like the fuzz on his chin and cheeks. Same studs over his eye. The bomber jacket was new, but tied it all together. _Makes him look more… personable._ Standing uncomfortably on a sidewalk in an orange dusk glow, he almost looked normal. Hard to imagine that this was a man who needed the approval of all twelve Lords of Terra to be unleashed.

"If you say so," Amat said, scratching at the back of his head and avoiding her gaze. "What about you? You're not cold?"

"I run hot," Yang said. "Semblance," she explained to Amat's questioning eyes. "It could be negative twenty in the middle of a blizzard, and I won't freeze. I'll be fine."

"I keep forgetting the power of aura," Amat said. "And each person has a unique one?"  
"Somewhat. Some are hereditary, like Weiss'."

"Imagine what it could do for the Imperium," he said, his eyes unfocusing for a heartbeat-moment.

"You sound like the Lady Inquisitor," Yang said. She pointed down the street, to a small corner pub with ivy crawling up its side. "Now let's do what we came here for."

Yang threw the doors open with her usual gusto, enough to grab every patron's attention. It was a busy place, but relaxed and lived-in. A long bar ran the length of the left side of the room, with tables sitting in the center and plushy booths on the right wall. A stained and well-worn hardwood floor hosted a fair number of mingling drinkers, who lounged atop holey and over-stuffed stools. Most of the people here were Yang's age, but none of them looked like her. They were more diverse in appearance than the Woadians, with mixed-white complexions and hair colors that ranged from fiery red to jet black.

They stared at her for a moment before returning to their merrymaking. _Ah, glorious anonymity_.

Yang swiped up a coloring book and some stubby crayons that sat by the hostess' stand before sauntering over to an empty booth. With an exaggerated sigh of relief, she planted herself down and gestured for Amat to join her. Once again, he was back to his mechanically precise motions, eyes scanning every patron once, twice, thrice.

"Hey man, easy," Yang said, pushing the drawing materials in front of the assassin. "No one here's gonna try anything."

"You don't know that," Amat said. "Any one of these people could be an agent."

"Psh," Yang huffed, waving her hand dismissively. "So what if they are? Do you really think any of them stand a chance against the two of us?"

"Hallo," their server squeaked, a mousy thing with frizzy brown hair tied up in a simple bun. "Was kann ich gertrunken die?" She asked, a wide smile splitting the freckles that painted her face.

"Uh..." Yang said. "You speak standard gothic, sweetie?"

The waitress screwed up her face in confusion. "Gotheek? Ah, gotheek! Spreche Iche nur ein bisschen… aber... " She paled, almost dropping the thin plastic menu clutched tight to her chest.

"Auswalder," she whispered, eyes flicking over to Amat, who, to his credit, looked concerned at the woman's sudden terror. "_Inquisition_." She hissed. Yang caught her wrist, gentle fingers patting the top of her hand.

"Shh," she hissed, putting a finger over her lips. "Nothing to worry about sweetie, promise. Like the disc-jockey said, we're just here for some R and R. What better place than this fine establishment, huh?"

"M-meine L-Lady," the waitress stammered, bowing her head in deference. Yang shifted uncomfortably.

"None of that now," Yang said, flashing her a brilliant smile. "The name's Yang. Yang Xiao Long. This here's Amat," she said, gesturing over to the assassin. He gave the woman an awkward wave. "Call me Yang, okay?" The waitress nodded. "Wonderful. Look, we don't have any of your local currency, but is it possible you could bring us a couple beers on the house? Again, not here to start anything, just a little thirsty. Nothing too expensive, we don't want to overstay our welcome. You understand me?"

The waitress nodded once more, and Yang's smile widened. She released the woman. "Please… relax. We'd like to keep a low profile."

She scurried off, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to escape. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice her plight, and she recovered after a few seconds of deep breathing.

"That went better than I thought," Amat said, watching the waitress retreat. "You have a way with people, Yang."

"It's one of my many talents," Yang said, throwing a handful of sunny blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Just like your boundless humility?" Amat asked. Yang stuck her tongue out at him.

"Bite me, assassin man. Or," she said, pushing the crayons forward. "Draw me a pretty picture."

With ginger grace, Amat plucked a crayon from the table. "Colored wax," he said, examining it. "Not my preferred medium."

"You'll make do. I saw what you did with your prayer to Shao-la." She slid a piece of blank paper over to him. "Impress me."

"...With a crayon?"

"Y-your drinks, Miene L-Yang," the waitress said, plopping down two stone mugs of beer. Chill to the touch and spilling trails of foam down their sides, Yang had not seen such a delicious sight in a long time.

"Thanks," she replied. "Keep us topped off if you could, but no more than… four? Four sound good Amat?"

"Sure," he allowed, still a little lost.

"Four beers. What's your name?"

"Eisyl."

"Thank you for the beers, Eisyl." Yang sent her along before taking a swig of beer. It was rich and smooth, a golden wheat ale of some kind. _Delicious. First real beer in ages._ Her binge drinking days were done. For good. _I have a physique to maintain now._ "Go ahead," she said, gesturing at Amat with her mug.

Clearly cautious and mistrustful after his bathtub amasec experience, he sipped at the foam. His eyes lit up in an orange-red sunburst. _Just like when I fed him those fries_. "This… is actually pretty good," he said, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, savoring the taste.

"Not everyone enjoys beer their first time. You have good taste sir," she said, raising her mug. Amat nodded before picking up on her expression.

"Oh, right." He met his mug to hers with a dull thunk, and they drank once more.

"Now, that picture," Yang said, tapping the sheet of paper.

"What should I draw?" He asked, tumbling a black crayon between his knuckles.

"Whatever you want man," she replied. "I just want to watch you work. Honestly, how many other Vindicares can draw like you?"

That stirred something within him. Setting his lips into something resembling a mask of concentration, he set to work on the page. The mechanic nature of his movements disappeared at once, and his fingers traced elegant angles across the paper.

"I know your memory isn't so great," Yang tried, "but I'd really like to know where it came from. Your painting skill, I mean."  
"To be fair, I still remember much of my initiation and education," Amat admitted. "It is what makes me Vindicare. Though as for my art, I can't say," he said, still focused on his sketch. His tone was still bright and conversational though, so Yang chalked that up as a win. "It's always something I've done. I suppose it's a remnant. An… _epitaphum_, I suppose. An echo of whoever I was before I was Vindicare." He took a drink, savoring each swallow. "You didn't tell me drinking could be pleasurable," he said offhandedly.

Yang was still trying to process his casual dismissal of being changed into an entirely different person.

"No, the other initiates used to mock the scribbles I made in the dust. The time I took staring at the Temple's artwork. They are long dead," he said, his crayon leaving the page but for a moment. "They did not survive the trials. The only thing of them that remains is their jeers. I cherish them," he added.

"They were children, weren't they," Yang asked.

"They were. I realize how that sounds to someone who came from Remnant. But to me… even knowing what Remnant was like, the standards its people lived by… I don't regret that they died."

"That's fucking bullshit." Yang spat before swallowing a mouthful of beer. "How can you defend this Temple? I understand they made you what you are, how powerful they are… but why? Why Amat?"

He didn't have a response, not yet. Instead, he kept at his drawing, the strokes lighter now, quicker. "Are you angry with me?"

"What? I- no! No," she repeated, ashamed at how quickly she'd become incensed. "I just want to know. You're one of my only friends. Ros is gone… and she had a family she never told me about. I miss her so much, and I... I wish she'd shared, you know? Take some weight off her shoulders. If you have any baggage, it's better that I stay informed, right?"

Amat gave her a chuckle. "Yang, you're growing into the role of Inquisitorial acolyte quite well."

Yang rolled her eyes, but allowed him a small smirk. "Whatever. Now spill."

Stone rang off wood as Amat set his beer down.

"There are a quintillion souls in the Imperium. Maybe more. Out of that number, perhaps a billion are admitted into the Schola Progenium. Of _that_ number, two hundred are selected as Adeptus Assassinorum candidates. Of those two hundred children, perhaps ten excel enough at preliminary studies to become assassins. Of _those_ ten, maybe three survive. _I_ am one of those three. Granted, this is a process that repeats itself every decade or so, but I can't stress enough how few of us there are." He paused, taking a deep breath. And another sip of beer.

"You're from Remnant. The love of the God Emperor is a foreign concept to you. I understand this. But in the Imperium, at every stage of a person's life, we are taught that above all else, our duty is to the Emperor. I became an assassin because I was one of the few who could. The Vindicare Temple still possesses my loyalty because they allowed me to do everything I can to serve the Emperor, in a way very few people can. I have a true purpose, and I won't squander it. I won't waste their sacrifice… Two-Seven, Eight-oh-Three, Nine-One."

"The other initiates," Yang realized. Amat nodded.

"I remember their words. Their epitaphium," he said. "Were they a millisecond faster, a centimeter larger, able to lift a single gram more… you might have been speaking with one of them instead of the person who became Amat. The Vindicare Temple does no more than it has to. If it does not, people like me will stop existing, and the Imperium will be worse off for it. The Emperor counts on us to do our duty. He depends on me."

Yang finished her beer, only for Eisyl to fill it hastily.

"I don't expect you to understand," Amat said, setting his crayon down. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"No, Amat. Thank you for sharing. It certainly clarifies a few things."

"I know what they do is extreme. I can't even deny that myself. I might have led a normal life without them… but I was chosen for something greater. If I remember correctly, many Huntsmen chose their profession because they felt the same way."

Yang nodded, taking another drink. "Who's that?" She asked, pointing at Amat's sketch. It was a bald woman clad in a simple black frock, electoos lining the side of her face and headwires trailing down her back like an electric ponytail.

"Instructor Palla. Whenever I try and remember my mother, this is the woman I think of."

"May I?" Yang asked, resting her fingers on the paper. Amat nodded. Picking up the sheet, she inspected Palla more closely. Even in crayon, it was an astonishing piece of work. Her angular face was cleanly shaded, her robe billowing and loose despite the chunks of wax used to compose it.

"Your teacher."

"The primary one. She taught me many things, but of all my Instructors, she was the only one who encouraged my scribbling."

_Weiss sure knows how to pick 'em_, Yang mused. _Of course she would pick Amat out of all the other Vindicares_.

"What about you, Yang?" Amat asked.

"What about me, buddy?" Yang replied, confused by her friend's somber tone.

"A purpose," Amat clarified. He finished his beer, draining it until the last drop. Once again, Eisyl was there with a replacement. "This is quite good… Yang?"

Her fist curled around her mug, knuckles as white as the foam that crowned it. "I… used to have a purpose… back on Remnant, it was Ruby. Here? I… I don't know. A _quintillion_ souls? I mean… _fuck_, man. I signed up with Weiss because she wants to fix the Imperium. Lately though? I just don't see how that's possible."

"It's… a tall order," Amat agreed.

"What can I do? I'm just one person. A total badass," she said with a quick smile. "But just one person. And I don't want to become like Weiss if that's what it takes to get the job done. I just can't. So if I can't fix the Imperium, what then? Find Ruby of course. Kill Abaddon and Josephus, sure… but what if Ruby never shows up? What then? Do I just keep fighting?" With a long sigh, she took a pull of beer. "I guess there are worse ways to live."

"Is it enough?" Amat asked. "The prospect doesn't exactly seem to thrill you."

"I mean… it's just what I did on Remnant. It's fun. Lets you forget about everything for a while."

Amat pushed the picture of Instructor Palla over to her. "There is a lesson we learned in _Book of Patience_. One of many. I don't know if it will help, but it's relevant - 'Focus upon the present, the task laid out before you. To scatter one's thoughts is to weaken one's mind.'"

"A real fancy way of saying 'worry about it later'," Yang said, huffing. "But you're right. At first I just wanted to see the stars. Travel until my legs fell out from underneath me. But now? I can't say, not yet." She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "That book has the right idea though. We're here now," she said, raising her mug. "Fuck it. Let's enjoy a few drinks, huh?"

Amat grinned, toasting to the present they shared. "Well, whatever you decide, we'll face it together."

Yang smiled too, warmth restored to her cheeks. _If nothing else… I can count on Amat_. "Damn straight we will. Thanks man. For everything."

"I live to serve, Lady Yang."

"Oh please," Yang said, rolling her eyes. "Don't you dare start that nonsense with me."

"Yeah, that just felt weird," Amat said, kicking his mug back.

"For someone who's supposedly been brainwashed, you're awfully snarky," she replied.

"And I have you to thank. You and those damnable headaches."

"Cheers," Yang said. "To being smug assholes."

Their mugs met once again, and they shared a laugh.

* * *

The drive back to the manor was a pleasant affair. Yang tore down the highway, letting her hair out behind her. She'd cranked the radio again, and she even caught Amat tapping his foot to a few of the better songs. At night, the highway was practically deserted, free for Yang to reign over at her leisure.

She felt happy. Happy for the first time in years.

A part of her felt like she should be wallowing in grief over Ros and Ruby, but it was quieter. Its voice was faded, muted. Yang knew she'd done everything she could. The past was the past, the present was now, the present was the Imperium. As for her future?

She didn't really know, but wherever it led her, Amat would tag along. Despite all his training and conditioning, he still shared his secrets with her, indulged in her whimsies and pointed banter. Yang smiled.

"What's that?" Amat asked, sitting up in his seat. He gestured to a flash of neon-blue light just up the mountain road, flickering between the conifers.

"Let's check it out!" Yang said. She was in no hurry to see the manor or the kasrkin. Amat grinned, a sight growing less rare by the day.

"Let's." Just to be safe, he slapped a shell into his exitus rifle, couching it into his shoulder.

Laughing, Yang shifted into fifth gear and tore up the mountain. As they made the ascent, Yang turned into an unnamed overlook.

They found the source of the light.

"Emperor," they whispered in unison. Far above the plains and valleys of Gartenwald, a flock of flying mantas soared amongst the clouds. Biofluorescent lines shimmered down the length of their bodies, warm pulses of blue light against the stars.

One crooned, a whale-song for the sky. Yang killed the engine. Felt right.

With each slow, purposeful beat of their wings, the creatures traversed the sky. They sang to each other, beautiful rolling music that echoed across the valley. Yang left the car, careful steps taking her to the edge of the overlook. Below her, there was nothing but rocks and empty air. She saw none of it.

"Quite a sight," Amat said, slinging his rifle across his back. "A million worlds in the Imperium… how many do you think look like this?"

"Not many," Yang said. An impulse struck her. She couldn't say where it came from, or what part of her thought it would be a good idea, but she did it anyway.

She reached across the space between them.

A part of her screamed that what she was doing was incredibly stupid. She was making things weird. Throwing away the one real friendship she had left in the entire galaxy. Moving too fast for someone still figuring out what it meant to be a person.

He met her halfway, syn-skin hand warm to the touch.

"Not many," she repeated.

Their fingers intertwined, and for a moment, the Imperium was at peace. Yang squeezed. For every lonely moment she'd spent in the Imperium, she squeezed. Amat returned the gesture. In time, maybe he would learn what it meant to hold hands with someone.

Maybe Yang would too.

Her microbead crackled, shattering the moment into tiny fragments. Cursing her fortune, Yang let go of Amat's hand, pressing the device deeper into her ear.

"Sergeant!" Darron's voice cried, desperate and fraught with urgency. "Wh_kkkkkk_" Yang tapped the bead, trying to filter out the static, her heart leaping into her throat. "We're under attack! Xenos! We've been ambushed by Eldar!"

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh. WHO COULD'VE PREDICTED THIS?**

**Joking aside, I really hope you all enjoyed. This chapter was murderous to put together, and one of the most heavily-edited in a long time. It's also the reason I went on an unannounced hiatus for two-months... absolutely could not push the words out for this one. But now it's done! :D Again, I hope you liked it, and be sure to leave any thoughts you may have as a review!**

**Oh, and if you're looking for soundtrack picks, I highly recommend listening to Gary Clarke Jr.'s _Don't Owe You a Thang_ or Blue Saraceno's _Bad Man _for Yang's escape from the manor. After the corner pub visit, I highly recommend the shorter version of _Bran New Lovesong_ by The Pillows. **

**One more note: yes, the local gothic dialect spoken on Gartenwald is a bastardized version of German. No, it was not supposed to be _literally_ German.**

**Thanks so much for all your reviews, guys! You're the best!**

**Until next time! :D**


	54. Regicide and Clockwork

**A/N: Thanks to my buddy SharkGlue for helping out!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 53: Regicide and Clockwork**

"_I can only pray my course does not falter." - the Clockwork Inquisitor_

The Lady Highest swallowed once, her throat as dry as the Vacuan desert. Before her master turned and saw the shock that ruled her face, she quickly pushed it under the surface, replacing her surprise with a calm and measured countenance.

_Even here_, she thought, _even a galaxy away, we are all still pawns to you, Ozpin_. _Parts of a great game where only you could see the board_.

"He became an Inquisitor a few decades before the turn of the fortieth millennium," The Hallowed Inquisitor continued, ignorant to his pupil's inner turmoil. "He despised what the Imperium had become. A quagmire of bloated bureaucracy and stagnant complacency. A festering ground for corruption and brutality. A place where a man's life means nothing."

"He sounds like a great man," the Lady Highest offered.

"I did not have the good fortune to meet him," the Hallowed Inquisitor said. "Though I can assure you he was. Just look at our organization," he continued, pale-green flames casting shadows across his face, "look at what it has become."

"It is truly a sight to behold," she replied evenly.

"Indeed. The time to act is now - which is why I have called a great meeting. There, I would have you stand at my side."

Once, the Lady Highest would have been thrilled by the prospect. But now, her head spun, the colossal onyx statue standing above her like a domineering Father. Stern. Judgmental. The Hallowed Inquisitor promised her what she had always sought - power. Power to act, power to effect the reforms she'd meticulously planned.

_Power to fill the hole that Ruby left_.

The Lady Highest grimaced. That was Yang talking. Had to be.

"I graciously accept your offer, Master," she said. "Though you have called this meeting at a precarious time."

"I am aware. The pursuit of Josephus is nearing its end. Has the party sent to meet Lady Steelshield reported yet?"

"Not yet," she replied. Swallowing, she pushed away the thoughts that plagued her, the doubts of Ozpin's legacy. "Does she have valuable intel?"

"Quite possibly. She is currently the acting representative of the Recongrators to some of our more… esoteric allies. She assured me they have acquired actionable information."

"Esoteric?" The Lady Highest asked. "Have you forged more pacts with the eldar?"

"I have. The eldar of Il-Kaithe were quick to accept our terms… something that surprised even Lady Steelshield. The other agreements are pending, though Ulthwé is coming around. Even their Seer Council knows that in times such as these, our differences are best left dormant."

"I am glad to hear this," The Lady Highest offered. Among all of the xenos in the galaxy, continuing hostilities with the eldar bore the least fruit. _Especially now that Abaddon marched on Cadia. _

She'd met the Lady Steelshield only once, an intelligent woman who was purportedly once a member of the Mechanicus. She was bubbly and brilliant, but there was an edge behind the cheery facade… her mind spilled over with cruel ingenuity and raw ambition.

"She has brought other grave news though, I fear." The Hallowed Inquisitor said, waving his pupil deeper into the chambers. The Lady Highest obeyed, striding towards the domineering statue of the former Headmaster. They stood between his feet, dwarfed by the colossus of gilded onyx.

"More perilous than Josephus? More perilous than the Chariot of Salvation?"

The Hallowed Inquisitor held his hand up, stilling her protest in its infancy. "Until Lady Steelshield can deliver her intel, we cannot act upon that front. Well, not directly - I have taken precautionary measures."

"Such as?"

"I'm building a strike force. Mere hours after I received your report regarding the Chariot, I began its construction. Regiments are being drawn from reserve - rather than waiting for service on Cadia, they will instead stand ready to take Josephus down."

"This does not strike me as the best option available to us," the Lady Highest protested. "Cadia is the backbone of the Imperium's might. Everything must be spared in its defense. I have managed so far, and I doubt I will require a sizable force to take Josephus down."

"And if you do?" The Hallowed Inquisitor asked, his eyebrow arched. "What then?"

"And what if Cadia requires some of its reserves" The Lady Highest sighed, looking back at the statue of Ozpin. _I just pray we haven't doomed ourselves_. "Let us not play this game," she said, ending the discussion. Her tutelage under the Hallowed Inquisitor was often fraught with disagreements, as he believed that surrounding oneself with toadies and yes-men could often lead to one's demise. This squabble was no different than one from her earlier years, barring a _much_ larger scale. _Letting the Chariot of Salvation fall into the Josephus' hands would be disastrous… but would it be worth losing Cadia? Doubtful._

The Lady Highest breathed deep. "We'll discuss this later, then. What other news does Lady Steelshield bring us?"

"Mars is stirring - something agitates them. She says there is a civil war brewing."

The Lady Highest blanched. "The Mechanicus cannot afford to fight a war with itself," she protested. "Any effort not directed to the Imperial war-effort is tantamount to negligence." _Does Magos Tyrham know of this?_

"So far, there is no open conflict - instead, the Magi wage war with their cogitators, setting their machine-spirits and hunter programs loose upon each other. Lady Steelshield couldn't determine the precise source of the conflict. Apparently, there is… considerable contention over a point of Mechanicus doctrine."

The Lady Highest frowned. She'd have to ask Magos Tyrham about this. _Atroubling development indeed… if the Mechanicus consumes itself on Mars, the effects it would have on the Imperium would be devastating._

Smiling weakly, the Hallowed Inquisitor made the sign of the Aquila. "Unfortunately, the reason I have called you here does not only concern the matter of your promotion."

"Unfortunately not," the Lady Highest agreed. "These are indeed desperate times."

"Together, we shall do what we can," her mentor replied. "I trust you to continue the Clockwork Inquisitor's work. I would have no one else succeed me. Kneel."

The Lady Highest obeyed, kneeling before her mentor, before the statue of her former Headmaster. With a hiss of otherworldly steel, the Hallowed Inquisitor drew his favored weapon from its sheath - a C'tan phase sword.

It was a dark and beauteous blade, one that seemed to drink in every scrap of lime-green light and flickering flame. The Lady Highest licked her lips. Even though it was only a slip of the Star Gods' living metallic flesh, it still drained the psychic energy from its surroundings, its edges flickering in and out of reality. Her head began to pound, and her witch's sight clouded. Beneath this weapon, this sliver of pure _being_, her soul withered and ached. Even her aura shrank from its touch.

"I know this is difficult for you, so I'll make this brief," the Hallowed Inquisitor said. He touched the flat of the triangular blade to her shoulder. Her teeth ground against each other, and blood seeped forth from her nostrils.

"You stand beneath our Founder, the Clockwork Inquisitor- pure of vision, heart, and soul, he united us, made us whole. So too, does he seek to make the Imperium whole once more. Here, before his last remaining visage, a successor of his will calls you to carry the torch."

_This is Ozpin's work all right_, the Lady Highest thought, fighting past the urge to vomit and cower beneath the blade that rested on her pauldron. _I can almost hear him say the words_.

"I accept the burden placed upon me," the Lady Highest said. _As if there was another choice_. She looked up at Ozpin's unsmiling face. _There never was, was there? I am just one of countless pawns those fingers have held. _The Hallowed Inquisitor moved the blade to her other shoulder, allowing her to breathe for a brief moment.

"Recite our oath," he said.

"I am a Recongrator. A blazing torch in an age of encroaching darkness. While the Imperium rots from within, while terrors from the beyond erode its borders, I shall march forth to meet them. Fear and avarice have taken hold of the Emperor's vision and polluted His Truth."

While reciting the Recongrator's oath, she cursed inwardly, her thoughts bittered by hindsight. _This is Ozpin's brand of rhetoric, through and through. How was I so blind? How did I not see?_

_Why did I think I was special?_

"This I shall not allow. While it is human to feel fear," she continued. "To succumb to it is a weakness of the soul. So I shall protect those who cannot defend themselves, and educate them so that they may one day stand by my side. I will be the arbitrator of the Emperor's will and the shepherd to His flock. It is by His hand I shall repair the Imperium. I ask for His aid, for I am but a candle to His might. I ask for His guidance, for I am weak and imperfect. I ask for his forgiveness, For I am but a humble sinner…"

"And only the Emperor is infallible," they finished together.

"Stand, Weiss Schnee. Today, you are my successor - one of many that will see the Emperor's vision restored."

The Lady Highest obeyed, locking eyes with her former mentor. He slipped the phase blade up his sleeve, and with it, the symptoms it bred. She desperately wished to know what lied in the mind of her mentor, but even sheathed, that… _thing_ was enough to mask his mind, transform his thoughts into a grey and motionless tarn.

"I will do everything I can to honor your decision," she said. _I have more mistakes than any man, woman or child._ The Headmaster's words seemed to fill the room, flicker from every emerald torch.

_When will I be free of you, Ozpin?_

The statue did not answer.

* * *

Yang hurled herself into the driver's seat, the keys cranking on the ignition before Amat could finish sliding across the hood. A red fury burned in the back of her mind, the kind that smelled like Uriel. Even if she could never burn down Commorragh, she'd be more than happy to play with its residents for a little while.

_Hell, maybe Prexius could use a few more test subjects_. Stomping on the gas pedal, she shook her head. _No no no, that's not me. Not my thoughts. Deep breath_.

"Any luck raising them?" Yang asked. Amat shook his head.

"Some kind of interference on comms."

"Fuck. Well assassin-man, time to lock and load." No longer concerned at Yang's blatant disregard for traffic safety laws, Amat retrieved his rifle, his hands reverently caressing the weapon. With a silent prayer on his lips, he slipped a brace of massive rounds into it. His face was taught, lined in total focus.

"I wish I could concentrate on anything half as well as that," Yang said. Ember Celica expanded around her wrists, the gauntlets clacking together to protect her forearms.

Amat ignored her until his prayers were finished. Not even a break-neck turn around a cliffside corner disturbed his ritual.

"It is a learned talent," he said eventually. "One critical to the Vindicare. Patience," he said, couching the rifle against his shoulder. "Patience and an unerring will."

Yang huffed a mirthless laugh. "Well, at least let me take the first crack at them. And if you find yourself low on ammo," she reached under her seat, retrieving her lasgun. Tossing it to Amat, her grin widened. "Go hog wild. Full power. _Roast_ the fuckers."

Amat's lips flickered into a brief grin.

Yang cranked on the steering wheel, hauling them around a sharp turn. Tires screeched against the asphalt, the car trailing skid marks far behind them. She gnawed at her lip, hoping that the kasrkin were okay. If she hadn't been so insistent on getting some fresh air, maybe they wouldn't be in such a difficult position.

Their microbeads crackled, but true to Amat's word, there was too much static to understand anything being said. _They're still alive. Hold on_. She certainly owed them an apology once they'd finished mopping up the eldar.

A chill ran up her spine, a small battery-lick that hummed along her vertebrae.

"You feel that?" Yang asked, turning to Amat. He gave her a questioning glance. "Guess not." She grimaced. "Something's not right about this."

"Now that I can agree with." A red lance of light seared far above their heads, accompanied by the tell-tale crackle of hellguns.

"Already engaged," Amat noted, checking his exitus pistol. He slid the mag out, checked the first over-sized shell, and rammed it home. "The Emperor protects," he muttered.

"And so do we," Yang said, wearing a toothy grin. _One last turn before the manor driveway_. Amat pressed a foot against the dashboard, bracing himself and steadying his aim. "When we get there, I'm braking hard, copy?"

Amat nodded. "I'll jump out, provide fire support. Just do your thing," he said.

Yang cracked her knuckles. "You got it."

The car banked into a sharp turn, tires squealing against the driveway pavement. Yang assessed the situation. One of the xenos was providing a barrier for the others, his glossy purple armor glinting in the moonlight as a wall of whorling energies drank in hell-bolts by the dozen. Behind him, lithe forms ducked and dodged, flowing around the barrage of hellgun bolts. None of them returned fire.

_Not as spiky as their friends from Uriel, but they'll go down all the same. _Yang stomped on the brakes and vaulted herself forward with the momentum. She bellowed a wordless cry, emptying Ember Celica behind her. Golden locks streamed out behind her, a fluttering streak of blinding light.

With a bellow, she struck the purple-clad xenos… only to meet the unmistakable resistance of an aura. A powerful one.

Despite the radiant light of his soul, the xenos went flying, careening into the manor and shattering the front door. Yang stood in shock, and the kasrkins' salvo lulled for a moment. Far inside the Governor's manor, the xenos' aura dissipated, lines of electric-blue energy arcing over his body.

"Hold fire!" Yang screamed, keying her microbead at the same time. From within, she could see Chera ready her hellgun, aiming it at the intruder. "Chera I said hold your fucking fire!"

Now, she had a thorough command of everyone's attention. From the trees around the manor, the xenos emerged, poking their heads out from behind cover. From within, the kasrkin hesitated, violet eyes darting back and forth. Amat's eyes were as wide as her own.

Loose drywall from the eldar's explosive entrance rained down on a hardwood floor, disturbing the silence. He stood, groaning in pain.

"Who are you people?" Yang demanded. She pointed a finger at the eldar. "Why do you have an aura?"

"Yang Xiao Long," a feminine voice sounded out, tremulous and disbelieving. It was little more than a whisper, but to Yang it was deafening. Alien. _That voice…_ Beside her, a woman materialized from a cloud of smoky black tendrils. She was clad in a suit of elegant green armor, her helmet flanked by wicked contraptions and spilling dreadlocks out the back. In her hands she held a slim, curved chainsword and a fancy pistol.

"How do you know my name?" Yang demanded, settling into a fighting stance. Instead of replying, the eldar removed her helmet. Yang's jaw slackened.

Before her stood Pyrrha Nikos, except… _not._ Her ears were like knives, her face perfectly symmetrical and radiating effortless beauty. But her hair was the same sanguine red, her emerald gaze a mirror image of Pyrrha's.

"Pyrrha?" She hissed. The eldar's shock melted into a smile that radiated warmth, though her angular eyes still wore an expression of incredulity.

"No, Yang. I am Maion Tou'Her of the Craftworld Il-Kaithe. I beg your forgiveness for the confusion… it was always said I resembled my Grandmother."

* * *

**A/N: I have a feeling a fair number of bets were settled today. Anyway, I'm sure plenty of you saw who the Soul-Wielder was FAR in advance (I did leave an embarrassment of hints), but I hope you enjoyed regardless!**

**Also, would like to thank you guys for all the great reviews you've been leaving me, Filthy Weeabu Trash in particular. It's always great to get tons of feedback, and I appreciate every word you guys have to give. Your advice and concerns help more than you might know!**

**Until next time! :D**

**Oh, and random note - I couldn't find out if Phase Blades did exactly what they did in this chapter, but I figured they should. Since they're different than regular necrodermis, I figured they'd have a very muted Blank Field around them... I wonder how THI got his? ;)**


	55. The Chariot of Salvation

**A/N: A quick reminder - opinions held by characters in this story don't necessarily reflect my own, and it should be remembered that they're fallible as well. Just because a character says something doesn't make it true! Keep this in mind for the upcoming chapters!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 54: The Chariot of Salvation**

"_Soon, soon it will come, the Time of Ending, the Time of Cycles and Rebirths. Great secrets and Greater beings will wake from their slumber!/Red shall descend upon the realm of Order, red that swallows all. In its wake, Glass shall turn to Blood, and Fell Souls shall cross the Bridge of Stars!/ Death shall be murdered, its smiling, stillborn corpse wasting away under the Sands of Time./ And in those days, legions uncountable shall march under the banner of a Fallen Star. Hear their boots, my brothers and sisters! Hear them thunder across the Galaxy! - Full Prophecy of Farseer Sylvis Tou'Her _

On Gartenwald, silence reigned.

"Pyrrha Nikos? Grandmother?" Yang spluttered.

"Sergeant!" Darron bellowed, hellgun braced against his shoulder. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Quiet!" Yang bellowed, rounding on the Captain. "Now is _not_ the time!" A hand ran through her mass of golden locks. _Holy Terra this makes no sense..._ "You mean to tell me that your Grandmother was Pyrrha Nikos?"

Maion nodded. "And over there, the one you just punched - that was one of her sons, Garnet Tou'Her."

The eldar in question stumbled past a pair of thoroughly bewildered kasrkin, a hand clenching at his face. Blood poured out from between his fingers as he leaned against the ruined doorframe.

"Isha's underclothes!" He exclaimed. "I was punched in the face by Yang Xiao Long! And I'm alive! This is the best cycle of my life!"

"You mean... " Yang started, words failing her.

"Pyrrha Nikos was my Honored Grandmother. She arrived upon Il-Kaithe as a child, and stumbled upon my Grandfather, an eldar noble by the name of Caelus Tou'Her."

"Sergeant!" The captain called out again. "In case you've forgotten, these xenos ambushed us and mean us death!" He took aim at Maion. "Step away from her before I'm forced to kill you as well!"

"I would not advise that Captain," Amat rumbled, stepping between Yang and the Captain. His pistol was still holstered at his side, but Yang knew who was faster.

"It appears," a voice echoed out, "there has been a grave misunderstanding." One of the eldar descended from his perch on a tree, brilliant metal-feathered wings slowing his fall. His armor was a polished sky-blue, and studded with glowing red stones. "Who among you is your leader?"

"Me, _xenos_," Darron said, spitting in the winged one's direction. "What do you mean misunderstanding? What did you do to the team meant to meet us?"

"We _are_ the team," Garnet said, wiping his reddened palm on his sleeve. Yang watched open-mouthed as the blood crystallized before her eyes. The winged alien shot Garnet a pointed look (from what Yang could assume… his face was hidden behind a sleek raptor-helm).

"I am Exarch Lossamdir of the Swooping Strike Shrine, and leader of this war-party. What Warlock… _Garnet_ says is true. Our Autarch commanded us to meet with the Inquisition upon the mon'keigh world of Gartenwald. We have fired no shots, and spilled no blood."

Yang was still reeling. She and Weiss were not alone in the Galaxy, it seemed. Pyrrha had been here as well... but… _grandchildren_? _How long ago did she arrive?_

"How do you know Sergeant Xiao Long?" Darron demanded. His hellgun had not lowered.

"I'll take this one, brother mine," Garnet said. He removed his splintered helm, revealing his face. His eyes were dark and steely, but his face bore a passing resemblance to Pyrrha's. They had the same strong, angular chin. "Captain…?"

"Marius," Darron growled.

"Captain Marius," Garnet said pleasantly. "That human over there," he pointed at Yang, "is something of a family legend."

"Lies!" Chera barked. "How is that possible? All you xenos speak are lies!"

"He speaks the truth," Maion argued. "She is Yang Xiao Long, the Protector, the Golden Dragon and sister to Ruby Rose, savior of Remnant."

Hearing her sister's name from a stranger (and an _eldar_ no less!) was too bizarre for Yang. Never mind the other bizarre titles. Her head started to pound, to ache. She sat down on the driveway, shock draining the color from her face. Amat noticed, and padded over to her, making sure to stay between her and the Captain. Befuddlement still rocked the assassin as well, and if it weren't for the situation before them, Yang would grin at his blatant confusion. Instead, she could only blink at her friend as he squatted down beside her.

"Mother told us many tales of Remnant," Garnet said. "Showed us via memory projections as well. I thought she was exaggerating about you Yang, but…" he cracked his jaw, wincing in pain. "I was _clearly_ mistaken."

"You are simply sore because Ruby was your favorite," Maion said.

"Irrelevant," Garnet replied, waving her jab away with flecks of scarlet.

"This is too fucking rich," Williams bellowed. Like his Captain, he too bared his hellgun.

"Agreed," Chera hissed. "What kind of witch _are_ you, Yang? Not only is your soul forfeit, but you cavort with xenos as well?"

"I don't know these people!" Yang protested. "I thought… I thought eldar-human hybrids were impossible!"

Maion sighed. She tucked her pistol into a holster at her waist, intent to show no hostility towards the kasrkin. "That is what the Imperium - and many eldar - would choose to believe." At her words, the other eldar rustled with obvious discomfort. They still held their weapons, but did not aim them at the humans. "But it is not the truth."

"They are very much possible," Garnet said. "Mother and Father were…" He flushed pink with embarrassment. "Hardly discreet about it."

Yang appraised Maion, studied the eldar's sleek features. "Pyrrha already _had_ children," she said with disbelief. Amat nodded.

"Three of them," he corroborated. "With the hero known as Jaune Arc."

"We know," Maion said. "My mother Jauna was named after him."

Yang stared at the stars that glinted in the pure night sky. _Pyrrha made it here too? Who else?_

_Where's Ruby?_

"My war-party speaks the truth," Lossamdir said, reminding them all of his presence once more. "And Captain, while your anger is so very typical of a small-minded mon'keigh, aiming it at Yang Xiao Long is misguided."

"More Travelers!" Garnet exclaimed, ignoring the Exarch. "Do you know what this means?"

"More humans," Maion muttered.

The winged eldar leader held up his hand. "There are more pressing matters at hand than legends of long dead heroes," Lossamdir said, "even if they stand before us. We were sent here for a purpose. We seek knowledge of Josephus' goal."

"Why? So you can aid him?" Darron sneered.

The night grew darker, and Yang could feel Maion and Lossamdir's aura spike. Garnet's radiant smile wavered. Thier souls were incredibly strong, and her hackles stood on end. _What are these people?_

"I am already not pleased to be working with mon'keigh," Lossamdir growled. "Do not tempt me into rash actions by letting baser instincts control your words. We are of Il-Kaithe, crusaders against chaos. To suggest otherwise is the gravest of insults."

"Captain," Yang said, sensing a situation developing, "we won't gain anything by picking fights." She accepted Amat's proffered hand. He pulled her to her feet, and she dusted herself off. _I shouldn't let stuff like that catch me off-guard. It's a good thing, after all! I know Weiss doesn't hate the eldar nearly as much as the rest of the Imperium does, and they appear to be powerful allies too! Plus… Pyrrha's __**kids**__!_

"Sergeant," Darron said, before his eyes scanned the eldar. Each one was standing at rest, their weapons offline. "Fine." His hellgun lowered, but he kept it active. "If you are truly supposed to meet us, why did you pose as an Inquisitorial party?"

"We did no such thing," Lossamdir said. "We were merely contacted by an Inquisitor who said she could set up an information trade regarding the identity of Josephus' prize."

"We were told the party could tell us where it might be found," Darron said. The two parties went quiet. "You have no idea where it is, do you?" Beside him, Garnet shook his head, splattering droplets of scarlet on his magnificent robes.

"We do not. Do you have information regarding what he seeks?"

Darron nodded. "I do, but if you have nothing to offer me in return, I'm not inclined to share it with you. This whole… _business_ with Sergeant Xiao Long is already proof enough not to trust you… if I didn't have reasons enough."  
"I'm right here," Yang said. "And you're full of shit Captain," she added. Darron did not appreciate that. His face flushed red with rage, but she continued before he could start an outburst. "I know the whole memory projection thing is possible," she said, eyes flicking over to Amat, "but I need to know if Pyrrha was really your Grandmother. It's far too convenient for the first party of… sensible eldar I meet to be her kids."

"We are not all the spawn of mon'keigh," Lossamdir said, gesturing at his war-party. "Just Maion and Garnet." Yang rubbed at the bridge of her nose. _Great. Looks like they have their own hangups about aliens. Fan-fucking-tastic._

"And yourself, Obsidian!" Garnet noted, raising a pointed finger. Lossamdir barked something in a sing-song language.

"Your request is a fair one, Yang Xiao Long," Maion said. "Ignore my uncles' squabbling. They never got along as children."

"They do seem rather close," Yang noted. Maion smiled. "Only siblings know where to dig at each other."

"I can attest to that," Maion replied, her smile widening. "But as for your request… behold." Slipping a bone-white disk into her hand, she offered to Yang. It was impossibly soft and carefully engraved, with a blue crystal embedded in its center. Closing her eyes, Maion whispered a few words. Runes bust into being, searing cobalt and circling over the disk. In mere moments, an image appeared.

Yang gaped. Before her was an image of Pyrrha Nikos, smiling and radiant. She was older, and grey had supplanted her cherry-red hair, but it was unmistakably Pyrrha. In the memory (Yang assumed it was a memory), she towered over Maion, and blossoms fluttered past her, borne on a gentle wind.

"Greetings little one," Pyrrha said, scooping up child-Maion in her arms. "What troubles you so?"

Maion cut the feed, retrieving the disk from Yang's hands. "The rest of the memory is... irrelevant."

Yang couldn't speak for awhile. So instead, she wrapped her arms around the eldar. Maion said nothing, instead choosing to return the embrace.

"This might be quite a shock for you," Yang said, pulling back. She wore a wide smile. "You probably saw all the antics we got up to back on Remnant."

"I would hardly call them antics," Garnet huffed. "Those stories were our childhood!"

Yang laughed and thumped her chest. "Well here I am! Even in the same duds!"

"This does raise a few questions, however," Maion said. "You died."

"She _what_?" Chera barked.

"Josephus," Lossamdir reminded them all. "We need to know what he seeks."

"You heard the man," Yang said, jerking her thumb at the winged eldar. "Cough it up, Captain."

"This is utter insanity," Darron said. Most of the anger in his voice was absent, replaced with sheer disbelief. "Have I lost my mind?"

"Not quite. But there's quite a bit the Lady Inquisitor didn't tell you," Yang said. She sighed. _I suppose it's no surprise Weiss didn't tell them anything_. Judging by their reaction, however, it did seem like the wiser decision.

"Your master?" Maion asked. "Why do you serve an Inquisitor?"

Laughing once more, Yang draped an arm over Amat's shoulder. He rolled his eyes, but allowed her a flickering smile. "Thing is… we're actually under a very special Inquisitor."

"You mentioned the Lady Inquisitor," Lossamdir said. "Word has spread of her deeds. She is your master?"

"Well that," Yang said with a sly grin. "And there's also the fact that she's Weiss Schnee."

"Hah!" Garnet laughed. He stepped out into the night to get a better look at Yang. "I would expect nothing less from the Ice Queen herself."

Yang's grin faltered as he approached. "She's a bit different than she was on Remnant, but yes… Weiss Schnee is an Inquisitor."

"You know of our Lady?" Chera asked. Her voice was significantly weaker. Pleading. "You know her name?"

"There's a lot we should talk about," Yang said. "You guys are seriously behind on some apparently critical stuff. But your boss is right," she added, nodding at Lossamdir. "We should probably deal with this Josephus stuff first."

* * *

Kicking her feet up on a supple leather Ottoman, Yang gestured for the eldar war-party to take a seat in the manor's living room. Most rejected her offer, preferring to watch the proceedings from afar. Garnet, however, was all too happy to take her offer, collapsing on the couch beside her.

With a sympathetic wince, she threw him a brief grin.

"Sorry about the whole..." she pointed to her cheek, "face thing." The eldar warlock laughed, the sound like intoxicating music. _Inhuman_. She pushed the thought down.

"I assure I am quite well," he insisted. "I didn't think my aura was significant enough to withstand such a blow, but I'm happy to learn otherwise."

"Uncle doubts himself," Maion said. "Though considering the size of his ego, you would never guess it." A glare from Darron silenced the exchange. Rolling her eyes, Yang scooted over to make room for Amat. He sat down warily, eyes flicking between each occupant of the crowded living room. Janos still fiddled with his meltagun, though he'd disconnected its power pack.

"Captain Marius," Yang said, "why don't you begin?" The kasrkin Captain had been cagey with the specifics of the mission... namely, what information they were giving to the other Inquisitorial party. Yang knew it had to do with whatever Josephus was looking for, but she remained ignorant of whatever part she played into all of it.

"Very well," Darron conceded, giving his wife a sideways glance. "Though I'm not happy about it."

"We appreciate it Captain," Maion said. Darron grumbled something but continued nonetheless.

"Ever since his fall two thousand years ago, Josephus the Corruptor has sought one thing - the Chariot of Salvation. From what My Lady has been able to ascertain, it seems as though he hit a roadblock and turned to the ruinous powers to aid him in his quest. Since then, he's been seeding cults across the Segmentum Obscurus in service to his foul Masters in exchange for information regarding the Chariot."

"This we know," Maion said, nodding at the eldar in luxuriant cream-colored armor. "Myself and Ysdrea's comrades have been culling his cults for some time now."

"A festering wound is best treated with flame," Janos said. He shifted uncomfortably when a few of the eldar nodded in agreement.

"Before he sold his soul," Darron continued, "he was a Magos in service to the Mechanicus. He kept a journal that contained every scrap of knowledge he could find on the Chariot. Several months ago... we recovered that journal." Though the eldar were outwardly calm and collected, Yang could feel their anticipation crackling through the air.

"Within the journal, an allied Magos discovered something rather disturbing..." At this, he retrieved a data slate and reluctantly handed it to Lossamdir. He took the object, but could not discern how to activate it.

"Like this, brother," Garnet said, tapping a button on the side of the slate. As his finger brushed against it, his eyes widened. It was so quick, not even Maion noticed her Uncle's shock.

"Garnet?" Yang asked.

"Ah... give me a moment," he said, retreating from the living room. "I must meditate." Lossamdir nodded his approval and the warlock departed, pulling his hood up over his bruised face.

"The data slate, Exarch," Darron reminded him. The eldar parsed the documents contained within.

"Isha be praised," he mumbled. "This must be erroneous... if not extremely outdated."

"Unfortunately not," Darron grunted. Though Yang was dying to find out what made the stoic Exarch react that way, she was pleased to see Darron notice Lossamdir's sneering contempt of chaos.

"This is a prize far beyond the ken of a Warlord," Darron said. "Even for one as influential as Josephus. An STC in _any_ condition is a treasure like no other, but an intact one is enough to stir entire Crusades." The faces of the kasrkin went bone-white at their Captain's words. Apparently even they had remained in the dark.

"An _intact_ STC?" Amat breathed. The sheer disbelief in his voice stirred something within Yang… something unfamiliar. The beginning of fretting worry.

"Hold up," she said, drawing the attention of everyone present. "I've tried to learn what I can of the Imperium, but I've never heard of an STC."

"It stands for Standard Template Construct," Amat explained. "The last relics of glory from the Dark Age of Technology."

"Though many eldar are loathe to admit it," Maion said, "even we hold a great deal of respect for such artifacts. They might be useless to we of Il-Kaithe, yet we still recognize their fell power."

At that, one of the cobalt-winged eldar removed his helmet. He spat before shaking strands of long black hair out of his eyes. Maion had apparently said something unpleasant.

"Okay, so Josephus wants an old relic... what of it?" Yang asked. "What do these things do?"

"They are stores of great knowledge," Chera said, "artificially intelligent data warehouses that can build anything they were programmed to... from agri-tractors to power swords."

"And this 'Chariot of Salvation'," Lossamdir rumbled, "is far more powerful than some crude agricultural device."

"What does it build?" Yang asked, a stone turning over in her artificial stomach.

"Starships," Darron answered. "No petty frigates either. Full-bore Capital ships, in a never-before seen pattern. If Josephus was correct in his findings, it's possible it has entirely new weapon systems as well… far beyond anything we've seen from the Dark Age of Technology."

"Oh," Yang said. "Yeah, that sounds… _really_ bad."

"If it falls into Josephus' hands, it would be catastrophic," Lossamdir said. "Such an artifact in the hands of the arch-foe could spell doom for the Imperium. With it, Josephus' power would approach Abaddon's."

"Then why are you so vested in recovering it as well?" Chera asked. "If the Imperium falls, what does it matter to you?"

"Times are changing," Maion interrupted, leaning forward to place herself in the center of the conversation. "Both in the Imperium and aboard Il-Kaithe. Attitudes millennia old are shifting, and pathways once thought closed lie open once more."

Darron grunted. "Spare me your vague platitudes, xenos," he said. "'Ask not the eldar a question, for they will give you three answers, each more terrible than the last'."

Chera and the kasrkin grimaced in agreement, violet eyes hardened into chips of amethyst.

"Then allow me to be more direct," Maion said, a tint of annoyance giving her voice a commanding edge. "My Grandmother was a human, hailing from the deathworld of Remnant. The same birthplace of Yang and the Lady Inquisitor. After centuries of work and cultivating influence, ideas she held dear are taking root in the stagnant soil of Il-Kaithe. Though each of my comrades here want to deny it, they can feel the change in the song of their minds, in the chorus of souls that is the Infinity Circuit. Tell me Asillar," she said, turning to face the unmasked eldar. "Tell me I am wrong."

He said nothing, but his lips curled in contempt. A few of his fellow eldar shook their heads.

"Lies," one of the cream-colored ones muttered.

Maion locked eyes with Yang. "A flame of hope rekindles itself in the breast of every soul aboard Il-Kaithe, though none can say exactly why."

"Careful Maion," Lossamdir warned. "The Mon'Keigh need to know little and less of Il-Kaithe."

"I was not speaking to you, Lossamdir… I speak to Obsidian, your host. Search _his_ soul. The answer is us, Uncle. The hybrids. The children of Pyrrha Nikos."

A hiss of disgust rippled through the eldar, but those with their faces exposed were clearly conflicted. Maion's words had touched them in some way.

"And how does this answer my question?" Darron asked. "I'm afraid I care _little and less _about the fate of your Craftworld. But the question remains… why does the fate of the Imperium matter to you, xenos?"

Amat sighed. "May I, Captain Marius?" Darron hesitated, but gestured acquiescence. "Maion's words are clear to me - the fate of the Imperium and the eldar is intertwined, more so than ever before."

"That is precisely it!" Garnet thundered, returning to the living room in a storm of energy.

"Your aura's returned," Yang noted. "Pretty fast," she added. Garnet nodded, set alight with an onset of nervous energy.

"It has, enough so that I was able to safely swim the treacherous current of the warp… divine the purpose of our meeting."

"Uncle?" Maion asked.

Garnet's finger reached out towards the huddle, long and spindly. Its gaze rested on Yang, heavy with import.

"Her destiny lies within the Black Library. The fate of so many souls rest upon her shoulders, it is… it is _blinding_."

Every head turned to examine Yang, who squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "What… what do you mean Garnet?" She asked.

"Josephus, the Chariot of Salvation… the Travelers… the threads of fate all knot upon her, and they all lead to the Black Library. That was the purpose of our meeting," he insisted, turning to face his brother. "The last piece of the puzzle… where the Chariot rests… the answer lies with her, and the Black Library of Chaos."

A pall settled over the eldar, and Yang noticed a few of them turn the lightest shade of green.

"And what of us, Uncle?" Maion asked. "What does the future hold for us?"

"Blackness," Garnet whispered. "I see naught but blackness."

* * *

**A/N: And thus, the Chariot 'reveal'! The MacGuffin has an identity... and a terrifying one at that.**

**Thanks for all your reviews these past couple chapter! I really appreciate every last one!**


	56. Why I Walk

**AN: Thanks for my friend SharkGlue for all the help!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 55: Why I Walk**

"_The eldar are not nearly as perfect as they'd like us to assume." - Lieutenant Chera Marius_

"Well that's fucking grim," Yang said, crossing her arms.

Maion found herself agreeing with one of her childhood heroes. Though Uncle Garnet's words had opened an ominous pit in her stomach, she smiled at Yang's cavalier attitude. It was ludicrous that she even sat face-to-face with the Golden Dragon herself, and even with Garnet's dark words, it was difficult to restrain the heady giddiness that coursed through her.

_Grandmother was not alone._

At the back of her mind, the mystery of how and why both Yang Xiao Long and Weiss Schnee appeared so much later than Grandmother ate at her, but she would have to save the questioning for later. For now, it was enough to bask in the warm light of Yang's soul. Even though Maion was a capable warrior, one of Il-Kaithe's best, she felt... safer in the Traveller's presence.

"So what now?" Yang asked, breaking the silence. "I'm not one for all that destiny bullshit, but it sounds like this Black Library could have something we're looking for."

"It is a certainty," Garnet assured her.

Darron snorted. "Are we supposed to just take a xeno's word for it? If you ask me, this whole fucking situation reeks of heresy."

Yang rolled her eyes.

"Captain," Garnet said. "I realize how this must sound, and your zealotry permits you from seeing truth, but-"

"_But_," Maion interrupted, before Garnet aggravated the Captain any further, "this is a matter beyond both of our species. It is beyond the galaxy itself," she added with a sideways glance at Yang. "What my Uncle is trying to say is that he shares your misgivings, but the danger presented by Josephus and the Chariot is too important. We must visit the Black Library." At this, there was silence. The Captain had the good sense to show a hint of flushed embarrassment. At least, it looked like embarrassment. _Hard to tell with mon'keigh_.

"Though what you say regarding Josephus is true," Lossamdir protested, "what Garnet proposes is hardly simple."

"Obsidian is right," Garnet said, chuffing. "A visit to the Black Library is more than just 'turn left at the second Webway Nexus'. But that does not mean we should not try regardless."

"We need to go," Yang said, her violet eyes meeting her lap. "We _have_ to find Josephus."

Maion nodded, choosing to ignore the hint of desperation in Yang's voice.

"Emperor protect me, this is insane," Chera breathed, her face falling into her hands.

"Ah, I almost forgot. This might explain some things," Yang said, reaching into her back pocket. The man in the synskin suit blinked. "Just... it will come as a shock. For what it's worth... I'm sorry we kept you in the dark, Lieutenant."

In her hands was a slim piece of folded leather. With a moment's hesitation, she removed a slip of glossy paper and handed it to the mon'keigh Lieutenant. With trembling fingers, the woman opened it.

She let out a piercing shriek.

Maion's comrades bristled, hands flying to their weapons at the sudden noise. Captain Marius did the same, a note of panic shattering his mask of discipline.

"It's it's fucking _her_," the Lieutenant whimpered. "The Red Woman... and Emperor be praised... oh, Holy Terra protect me."

Captain Marius examined the photograph as well. In a moment's time, his face had turned to ash.

"Trickery," he mumbled. "This has to be some kind of warp-damned sorcery."

"Just a pict Captain," Yang's companion said. "I assure you."

"I'm sorry," Yang repeated. "I really am."

Slowly, agonizingly, the little slip of paper made its way around the table. One of the mon'keigh handed it to Lossamdir offhandedly, so lost in the revelation he forgot who stood beside him.

When Maion took hold of the paper, she couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. It was Team RWBY in their prime, with the fabled Beacon Academy standing resolute behind them. So happy. So full of joy.

"Team RWBY," Maion said, handing the image to Garnet.

"Unbelievable," he said, grave warning forgotten. "There she is! Ruby Rose! Isha be praised!" He laughed before his ruined face forced him to wince in agony.

"That's my sister alright," Yang said, her smile both watery and full of pride.

"The... the fucking Red Woman," the Lieutenant whimpered "Yang... Our Lady... Emperor protect us, what madness is this?"

"What do you mean, ,'the Red Woman'?" Yang asked. "You mean Ruby?"

"She's been haunting our dreams ever since..." she glanced at the Captain, who gave her a reluctant nod. "Ever since Shao-la. Our Lady she... she discovered the Boy-King had been polluted... possessed. Her fury almost froze us solid." Remembering the cold sent a shiver down her spine. "Her witchery went haywire. Ever since then, we've... we've seen her. Dreamt of her. The Red Woman. _Her_," she insisted, pointing at the image.

"I don't know what to tell you," Yang said. "She's my sister," she added with a shrug.

"Where are you from," the Captain demanded, cutting her off. Another mon'keigh nodded into his folded hands, whispering a quiet prayer. "How is this possible then, if it's not some convoluted spell?"

"We came from a planet outside the Imperium," Yang replied. "I don't know how it's possible, but it's truth."

"The world of Remnant, Maion explained. "It's well beyond the confines of our galaxy. A world unlike any you have seen. A world of heroes, villains and monsters."

"Our mother Pyrrha hailed from the same place," Garnet said. "She was Yang's contemporary and close friend."

"Which is starting to bug me," Yang said, giving the Lieutenant's shoulder an uneasy pat of support. It was not welcomed. "I came here as I am now... Weiss arrived as a child a couple decades ago. Pyrrha must have shown up quite a while ago if she already has grandchildren."

"Hm," Garnet said, eyes clouding over. "That is certainly odd. By mon'keigh reckoning, Pyrrha Nikos arrived... two thousand years ago."

Yang's face fell. "Oh. I'd... I'd hoped I could see her again."

Garnet sighed a sad sigh. "I'm sorry Yang. Though living on Il-Kaithe and frequent exposure to the Webway extended her life far beyond even the most generous Imperial standards, it is very likely she has since passed."

"You mean you don't know?" Yang asked.

"She disappeared with Grandfather..." Maion paused, converting passes into years. "Two hundred and seven years ago. I was little more than a child at the time."

"This is madness," the Captain whispered. "Sheer madness."

"Don't forget the fact that I died," Yang said, a poorly conceived attempt at humor. The mon'keigh only looked more despondent and confused, but Garnet considered her words with care.

"That is correct... murdered by terrorists at twenty-two," he said.

"I don't remember it happening... not really," Yang said. "But it's possible that this galaxy is the final resting place for Remnant's dead. Certainly seems to be a theme," she added with a grimace.

"Then Grandmother has died before," Garnet said, brow furrowing. "That is… troubling."

"We're losing track of our goal," Lossamdir rumbled. "So, Captain we must reach a decision. Will you continue to fight us every step of the way?"

"Easy there man," Yang said. "Have some sympathy for them. It's a big shock."

"The facts have been presented, there is no reason-"

"Enough, Uncle." Maion said. Some of the Swooping Hawks rankled at the disrespect shown to their Exarch, but she cared little for their banal opinions. "You are doing nothing to help the hunt." She turned to face the bewildered mon'keigh guardsmen. "Captain Marius, we have no intention of misleading you or tricking you. You happen to have been caught up in a series of... unexpected and tumultuous developments regarding a bridge between galaxies... possibly even universes."

"Emperor protect us... you're not lying, are you?" one of them whimpered.

"Among your kind we have a reputation for deceit," Maion allowed. "With that in mind, allow me to be perfectly clear - I swear on my soul, on my human ancestry, on the Holy Terra you hold sacred, I have no intention of deceiving you."

The manor grew still. Distantly, faintly, the keening song of the native fauna could be heard, lilting and gentle. It seemed to fill the corners of the manor, echoing away into nothingness. Maion's war-party stood in judgmental silence. An oath on one's soul was a grim matter, and she could see Asillar recoil at her words.

"That is no small oath," Ysdrea said in the tongue of Il-Kaithe. "What right do you have to swear such a thing?"

"It is imperative that we keep our allies in mind," Maion replied in gothic. "I realize it is far from ideal, but please refrain from speaking in words they cannot understand. No matter what path Uncle decides to take, incurring further distrust will do us no favors "

"I spit on their distrust," Asillar snarled in the mother tongue, earning him alarmed looks from both parties. "They are mon'keigh! Animals! Yang especially, she-"

Maion slapped him.

"You are a fool," she growled. Lossamdir made to step between them, rage spilling from his soul in cloying waves. She switched to gothic. "Are you blind to Yang's soul? Tell me, are you all deaf to its song?" She asked, rounding on her war-party. "That blow that Garnet suffered would have crushed you all into a red gruel. If she so chose, she could best us all without breaking a sweat. Tell me, _tell_ _me Asillar_, are you blind to this?" She pointed to Yang, who sat frozen in surprise. "Even the Soul-Wielder believed this woman superior to her, and you _all_ know what Grandmother did in the name of Il-Kaithe."

Silence.

"Pyrrha thought I was stronger?" Yang asked, her words weak, their footing unsteady. "That... can't be right."

"At least during your time together in Beacon," Garnet admitted with a half-smile. "Mother was nothing if not humble."

"This will do wonders for her ego," the man in synskin muttered to himself. It earned him an abortive chuckle from Yang. No one else laughed.

"We... we need to discuss this," the Captain said. "This is all just... so ludicrous."

"I agree, Captain," Lossamdir said. "I must have words with my war-party."

_That was undoubtedly directed at me_. Maion breathed deep, taking in deep lungfuls of air. _I might have lost my temper back there_.

* * *

"You are an absolute _fool!_" Lossamdir hissed. For him, it was akin to a raging bellow. He paced before the collected war-party, wearing a trench into the lounge's carpeting. It was a small room, just enough to fit the war-party within its walls. A brick fireplace sat unused, the timbers within ashen and cold. The furniture surrounding it was plush and comfortable, far too luxuriant for the war-party's tastes.

"I planted a seed of doubt in their souls," Maion replied evenly. _Mon'keigh are not bright beings, but neither are they stupid_. _They can deduce the meaning of what I've said. Maybe._

"You struck your own comrade!" Lossamdir cried. "Today we can truly see the mean character of mon'keigh half-breeds!"

Asillar crossed his arms, his face red as summervine from Maion's blow. He searched her gaze for a sign of regret. He found nothing.

"Your behavior has been nothing short of contemptible," Lossamdir growled "Upon our return to Il-Kaithe, you will be harshly punished."

"I ensured the success of our mission."

"We have already succeeded," Lossamdir spat. "Now that we know what the Chariot is, we shall find it and destroy it. Our dealings with the Inquisition are done."

Maion said nothing, refusing to acknowledge the Exarch's words. She had acted rashly - this could not be denied. She still knew she had done the right thing.

"To abandon our quest now would be an act of cowardice. It borders on treason," Garnet added. "I have seen our course plain in the currents of the Empyrean... a rarity, I should add. Your words sicken me, Lossamdir. I know my brother would never say such cowardly things. Bring him out so that wiser heads might prevail."

"You are but a guide!" Lossamdir insisted. "And Obsidian is no more. He has become part of something far greater."

"And far more tremulous," Garnet snapped, stalking over to his former brother. "One shining soul among an ocean of blinded fools."

"Enough!" Ysdrea shouted, throwing herself between the former brothers. Her eyes were like chips of ice, and her dyed-red hair fluttered against the cream-colored plates of her armor. "We are warriors of Il-Kaithe! Crusaders against Chaos! To debase ourselves in such a manner is disgusting! We," she insisted, laying a hand upon her breast as she gestured at the war-party, "are not here to be pawns in the middle of the half-breeds' family squabble. You may lead this mission, Exarch, but you are not of our shrine. Your mon'keigh ancestry has failed you all! If this is the 'fate of the Eldar'" she sneered, glancing at Maion, "If this the _hope_ you speak of, then I believe it would have been better for Caelus to throw himself into the Eye of Terror than rut with that mon'keigh _whore_!"

"Hold your tongue!" Garnet bellowed. "No one can deny my Mother has done more for Il-Kaithe than anyone has in thousands of passes! How many mon'keigh has she slain? How many, Ysdrea? How many of the arch-foe lie dead at her feet? How many Imperials?"

"Silence!" Lossamdir cried, but he was too late. Arguments erupted and tempers flared like dying suns, while shouted words were traded with abandon.

Anger surged through Maion at Ysdrea's words, but it blows slackened and died away, crushed under a wave of regret. _Only minutes ago we discovered Grandmother was not alone... and this is our reaction? To fight and squabble like animals?_

Lossamdir tried a different tactic to seize their attention.

A piercing mental screech silenced them all, a stab of pain in the minds of the war-party. Maion winced, recoiling from the sudden blow to her senses.

"Disgraceful. Your conduct on this mission has been utterly disgraceful," Lossamdir said. "All of you. I am ashamed to have headed this disastrous venture."

"I would not call our mission disastrous," Maion said carefully. Fate hung heavy in the air, she could feel it. If she did not act... the consequences would be dire. "These developments are... rather extreme. The Soul-Wielder is no longer alone. There are others. The implications are tremendous, and they cannot be understated. I ask you all to do but a single task - consider the decision before us. Tell me, what if we decide to lead Yang to her destiny?"

"Our deaths are all but assured," Asillar said, staring into the dead fireplace. "Spent on the foolish guidance of an untested warlock. Your Uncle made our fate plain."

"Death is likely," Maion said, "but why does it worry you so? Do we not all tread the Path of the Warrior? I would rather consign myself to a torturous death in the webway then allow chaos a single additional inch of power. In that way, I am a true daughter of Il-Kaithe. We have worked with mon'keigh before to staunch the spread of the arch-foe. Today is no different."

"Please understand Maion," Ysdrea said. "We all realize the absurdity of Yang's presence. But we were given a purpose, a mission. Her destiny - if it is _half _as grave as Garnet claims - is beyond our interference. If we do not return, we risk throwing away not only our souls, but knowledge of the Chariot. Are you so eager to consign yourself to She-Who-Thirsts? To fail the Autarch's trust?"

"I... no." Maion said, the simplicity of the question taking her aback. "No. Of course not. But it is not as if I will be _handing_ her my soul."

"I simply do not wish such an unnecessary fate to befall us," Ysdrea continued. "And what if there are no answers about Josephus? The Black Library is hardly a place of... absolutes."

Well spoken. Postures relaxed, deep breaths inhaled. Exhaled. The scent of the lounge was distinct, stained with decades of use and the smell of rich lumber. Only as she gathered her thoughts did she truly notice it. The room smelt… so very human. Maion flexed her hand, curling it into a fist. Relaxing it.

"We cannot play the game of 'what-ifs' forever," she said eventually. "Uncle Garnet would not mislead us - there _are_ answers in the Black Library. If we do not ferret them out, we will have missed a chance to kill a crucial foe." She looked up at Ysdrea. "And destroy the Chariot before any mon'keigh obtain its power."

"Hmph," Asillar sneered, dismissing her logic with a brusque wave. "You seemed pretty friendly with this Yang character. Why would you deprive your new friends such a powerful asset? Are our fates not _intertwined_," he asked, derision made plain in a brilliant, shining smile.

"Just because we share fates does not mean we should endanger Il-Kaithe unnecessarily,' she answered. "Leaving the Chariot intact also leaves it vulnerable for the arch-foe to claim later." She shook her head. "The point is moot if we debase ourselves and flee. We will be too late to act if the Black Library's call is ignored."

"And what if we do not go," Lossamdir said. "The choice is not yours to make," he reminded them. "It is mine, and mine alone. Maion… Garnet… what would you do if I order our return to Il-Kaithe."

Garnet shrugged, rolling his the pointed pauldrons that adorned his shoulders. "I would go regardless. I am sorry, Obsidian."

"Don't be a fool," Obsidian exclaimed, binding his fist in Garnet's robes. "Don't throw your soul away!"

Garnet shrugged again, avoiding his brother's eyes.

"Maion?" Obsidian asked.

She took another breath. "I would do the same."

"Why?" Lossamdir demanded. "Explain to me - Why are you so eager to die?"

Garnet made to speak, but Maion stepped forward instead.

Her nails cut into her palm as she made a pair of striking fists. "I am a killer," she said to them. "These are the instruments of Khaine the Bloody-Handed. With them, I make death. Though my war-mask has not consumed me, I know they will make nothing else. They are not the hands of a mother or a bone-singer. They will never cradle an infant or pluck a harp. But rage does not consume me. All of you walk the Warrior's path because you are angry. Within you, the desire to wash your hands in blood burns bright. Khaine calls you all to indulge in the rage that lies sleeping in our souls. It is his blessing as well as his curse. But this... this is not why I Walk."

She strode towards the fireplace, past each of her fellow warriors. They watched her closely. Some glowered with undisguised hate. Some stared at their feet. Some stood riveted, unmoving and still as statues.

"On my Grandmother's homeworld, the reasons to become a warrior are ones alien to us - they are volunteers," she told the cold timbers. "There is no rage to drive them, no Emperor to follow with slavish devotion, no Dark Gods to corrupt them. They do not even refer to themselves as warriors. They do not kill... they serve. They are _soldiers_. Like the guardians, yet… not. They fight to protect their homes and their nation, even before they are threatened. I am a killer first and foremost, but I am also a soldier. I am a soldier because I love Il-Kaithe."

Maion rounded on the war-party.

"I will defend it. Even at the cost of my soul, I will defend my home. My friends. My family. My kin. If my soul is lost to She-Who-Thirsts to save but one other eldar from the same fate, so be it. I hope She chokes on it."

A dread quiet filled the lounge.

"Why?" Asillar asked, his voice but a whisper. "How could you say such a thing? You're-"

"A hybrid. I know. It doesn't matter. If we flee from the the truth behind Yang and Grandmother... behind Josephus and the Chariot, any sacrifice we make will mean nothing. True hope has blossomed in Il-Kaithe's breast for the first time in countless eons. I will not be the one to see it extinguished."

Lossamdir shifted his weight between his wings, brow furrowed into an abyssal trench. Even Garnet had nothing to say. _A rarity_, Maion noted dizzily. She had not meant to bare her soul like that.

"Very well," Lossamdir said eventually. "You have explained yourself. At length," he added with a curled lip. "You have made it clear you intend to be disobedient. Autarch Elladar will hear of this."

"He will not act," one of the Dark Reapers said as he stared at his launcher. _Kaedrus_, Maion remembered. "We only serve him on this endeavor. You are merely our overseer." An uncomfortable reminder, one that festered in the minds of many in the war party.  
"I promised him to see this through," Maion said. "He is one of the few who has shown the Tou'Her any measure of kindness. I will not fail his trust. If anything, he will have stern words with you, Lossamdir."

"Feh," Lossamdir said. "If that is the case then, you can all decide upon it." Venom dripped from every word. "I will take no responsibility for your deaths."

Even the Swooping Hawks took pause at their Exarch's words. Was Lossamdir truly letting them decide their own fates?

"I say we venture forth," a Dire Avenger said, his face a mask of placid calm. "Come death or damnation, Maion is right. I will not allow an opportunity to defeat a hated foe pass me by."

"I agree," his companion said. His fist thudded against his breastplate, ringing off the scarlet soul stone. "Maion… You are sister to Mirodir," he added. "The most capable comrade I have known. By his loyalty, and ability, I shall place my trust in you."

"We stand with you as well," Kaedrus said. "I would rather lay dead in the webway than see Il-Kaithe perish due to our inaction."

"Hope is dangerous," Ysdrea admitted, running her hands through her fiery locks. "And Maion, why you Walk means little to me, but I will afford you this much- any measure to stop Josephus must be taken."

"I curse your name, Maion Tou'Her," Asillar said. "Your words are poison, and it irks me that you would prick our pride to serve your own ends. You have all but called us cowards. You have shamed us into action." His fingers caressed his raptor helm, tracing the ruby-red eye pieces. "I will go, if only for the satisfaction of bringing home your spirit stones myself."

The rest remained hesitant. No one else stepped forward, no one else believed Josephus' death was worth their own.

It mattered little.

"The Black Library, then," Lossamdir said, deciding for the rest. "Isha protect us."

Silent acceptance greeted his words, while faces turned solemn and grey. An unspoken command coursed through them, and one by one, they departed the lounge. Only Maion remained.

She looked at her hands.

_I have doomed them all._

* * *

**A/N: Oof, this was _not_ an easy chapter to write. Eldar are tough. You should also note that these aren't… well, how eldar are normally portrayed. They're normally seen (even from hostile perspectives), as lithe, perfect, beings. Honestly, I find them -even the Black Library works from the Eldar perspective- extremely boring. Eldar are supposed to feel emotions with unparalleled intensity, but when I read about them, they all sound like whiny, entitled children. Also, the whole 'perfect elves' trope annoys me - flawed people are more fun to write and read about. Yeah, these might not be eldar how you're used to reading them, but they're more in line with how I think they should be - vicious, arrogant, and mysterious, but also possessed of great wisdom and charisma.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! And for those puzzled by the lack of action in recent chapters, don't worry... dark things are brewing in the Webway...**


	57. It's All Wrong

A World of Bloody Evolution Chapter 56

**Chapter 56: It's All Wrong**

"_It is often said that Cadians unable to strip, clean, and fire a lasgun by the age of four are born on the wrong planet. This is an exaggeration. Cadia's children are usually ready by the time they are three. Darron was ready when he was two." - Major Jenna 'Hell-Filler' Marius_

Yang twiddled her thumbs. How very interesting her thumbs seemed at this very moment.

"This is un-fucking-believable," Darron said, burying his face into his hands. Chera sighed too, reaching an arm around her husband's shoulders. A life-line rendered in flesh and olive fatigues. However, Yang didn't think Chera offering support was the best idea - the Lieutenant shook and shuddered, her knee bouncing to a hectic beat.

"I'm sorry you found out this way," Yang tried. "Though, if anything, it should help explain a few things about why Weiss has been acting the way she has." _It feels good to just… say her name._

"And the Red Woman?" Chera demanded.

"Ruby?" Yang asked. "I have a guess as to why you've been seeing her. But do I have some questions of my own about that."

Darron laughed. It didn't sound right. "You have to be joking. _You_ have questions? You, Yang? What fucking right do you have to say that?"

"She's my sister," Yang growled, resisting the urge to ball her fist in his collar and smash his face into the hardwood floor. Instead, she took a deep breath, centering herself. _They don't know. They couldn't._ "I get it… I understand what you're feeling. To understand that someone you thought you knew is someone else entirely. It _sucks_."

"Ah," Chera said, sneering. "Tell me then, what did you think of the clones Our Lady made of you and your husband?" She demanded. Yang blinked, before realizing what the Lieutenant meant.

_Aw, hell_.

"And what about the friend you nearly sacrificed to keep us alive?" Chera continued. "Ah shit, that's right, my bad," she said, slapping a palm to her forehead. "I got that backwards. We'd been cloned. We risked our lives for you. That was _us_. My bad, memory's a little fuzzy thanks to all the witchery bullshit these past few minutes."

"I…. am trying to play… _nice._" Yang said through clenched teeth. They ground against each other, loud enough to roar like a lumber mill. "This is some crazy shit, I get it. I just showed up in the Imperium a year ago, and let me tell you what kind of an adjustment _that_ was. I'll do my best to explain some things… and... _help_ you. So unless you have some more bitchy quipping to throw at me, I suggest you get started."

Chera started forwards, before Darron's hand caught her shoulder. He shook his head, and the steel glint faded from her eyes. In its place, a tear formed.

"Start talking," Darron said. Spoken evenly, but with a hint of command. "How'd you end up in the Imperium? Where are you from?"

"Well," Yang began hesitantly, "the Lady Inquisitor and I used to be close friends on a world called Remnant. Back then, she was just Weiss Schnee - an heiress to a powerful company. We trained at a… military academy of sorts, the most prestigious one on the planet. There were… complications. Racial tensions." _That's putting it mildly. _"A war. We lost a lot of friends and family, but we won in the end. Sorta."

Yang sighed, letting her fingers tease out the knots in her hair.

"For me," she continued, "that was only three years ago. For her, it was ninety. Maybe more. I don't understand the mechanics of how or why, but we both died and landed in the Imperium. Apparently, another good friend of mine arrived as well, only… outside Imperial borders."

"The hybrids," Janos spat, eyes narrowing.

"Let's go with Pyrrha's family," Amat said, biting off Yang's reply. _All for the better_, she supposed. _I'm trying to put a leash on my temper, after all. Need more practice._

"Yes, Pyrrha's family," Yang continued. "Thank you. The only real explanation I can offer is that there's some warp fuckery behind it all. You've all known Weiss longer than I ever did. You deserve a better answer, but I'm afraid I can't give you one."

"And… the Red Woman… Ruby," Darron said. "She's your sister? You look nothing alike. What happened to her? Why is she not here as well?"

"Half-sister," Yang clarified. "Same dad, different moms. As for what happened to her, she sacrificed herself to end an ancient threat on Remnant. It was my fault she died, and there's not a day that goes by where I don't regret it. I'm working on getting past it though. It's… not easy. As for where she might be, Josephus might have a clue or two. You mentioned something happened in Shao-la?" As one, the inquisitive purple stares shifted elsewhere, searching the corners of the atrium. A chill breeze whistled through the hole where the door once stood. It smelled like rain.

"The Lady Inquisitor lost herself," Darron said. "In the twenty years I've served her, she's never lost control of her witchcraft. "She stumbled upon some kind of revelation… and… she just snapped."

Janos hunched over and vomited, spilling bile through his fingers. Yang shifted her boots a few inches away from the mess. It was like there was an open, gangrenous wound on their collective memories, one her explanation didn't help heal.

Unbidden, a half-remembered dream swam to the surface of her consciousness, a white haze that

_**WHERE IS SHE**_

faded away as quickly as it came. Yang squeezed the bridge of her nose. "I might be able to explain that one, actually." The kasrkin perked up, and Janos wiped his chin. "On Shao-la, Weiss found out that Josephus might know of Ruby. My sister. That's probably why you started seeing her. Weiss and her were close…" _If that's the word you wanna use for it._ She shuddered. How an innocent crush became… whatever it was now wasn't relevant at the moment. "Inquisitor must've lost her shit, and given you all a kind of psychic bleed-over." Yang shrugged. "Sorry I can't give you any more than that. I'm not really an expert on this kinda stuff."

_But you are_. _You know how Gamma looks at you now, how they dreamed of you, and- _Yang bit her tongue to keep the thought from continuing.

"And what about the things the Red Woman says?" Chera asked. "She always speaks in metaphors and riddles, references to things we can't begin to understand."

"She speaks to you?" Yang asked, a pang of envy flaring up within her. Not once had Ruby spoken to her in her dreams.

"'White is cold and always yearning,'" Casser recited.

"Riven by a long-lost grief," Darron finished grimly. "Sometimes she sings."

"Sometimes she just cries," Chera added, huddling herself against an invisible assailant. "She makes me sad. She's never really seemed… evil or corrupted, but she doesn't seem whole either."

Yang bit her lip. _I'll take uncorrupted._ _But if_ _we find Josephus, should the worst come to pass… No, can't think about that. Won't_.

"Well," she started, "the important thing for you guys to know is that she's not some kinda warp-waif or something like that. She was a person. My _sister_. We baked cookies together and watched crappy TV. She had crushes on our classmates, stressed over homework. She was the strongest Huntress to ever walk the face of Remnant, but she was still just a human being." They took that in silence, brooding over her words with scrunched brows and pursed lips.

"All right, Sergeant," Darron said. "I'll be honest, this is still difficult… nearly impossible to believe. But you're not lying. Or at least, you don't think you're lying, which is just as good to me. I've been part of a number of investigations, and I've gotten a knack for when people are spewing groxshit." He paused, reaching into his shirt pocket to no avail. Chera handed him a pack of lho sticks. Mumbling his bitter thanks, he lit one, inhaling deeply. "I don't know what kind of heresy all this Remnant nonsense is about, but I'm inclined to believe you, Sergeant. Emperor help us all."

"Weiss will confirm everything I said once she gets back," Yang said, nodding.

"I can as well," Amat said. "With her telepathy, our Lady showed me much of her life on the world of Remnant. I don't blame your hesitation Captain Sir," he added. "I had a difficult time processing it all."

Yang threw her friend a reassuring grin, squeezing his knee in solidarity. "Thanks man," she whispered. He nodded sagely.

"Then your business with the xenos?" Darron asked. "What did the purple one say about a Library?"

Yang threw her hands up. "Honestly, I have no idea," she replied. "I always get a bit twitchy when people start throwing words like 'destiny' around. Though it did sound like they might have a lead on where the Chariot of Salvation could be. Where Josephus is headed. Maybe some stuff about why all my friends ended up in the Imperium. Stuff that _definitely_ has my interest."

"Mission-critical information," Amat reminded them. "The eldar were led here under false pretenses, and don't have the information we require. It would be… remiss of us to not see our Lady's orders through."

Yang cracked a smile. _You sly dog_.

"Do you think she knew?" Chera asked. "About the eldar?"

Yang shook her head. "For once, I don't think she left us in the dark on purpose. She doesn't know about Pyrrha's kids, that's for sure." _She would have mentioned it otherwise. She would have._

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Janos asked. "Just follow some _clearly_ conflicted xenos on the smallest chance they have information we can use?"

"Yes," Yang said. "If nothing else, they're my friend's kids. I have to trust them… xenos or otherwise," she added. _Eldar. They're called eldar. _"I want to stop Josephus just as much as any of you. This Chariot thing sounds pretty nasty too."

_Plus, there might be some clues about Ruby._

Darron closed his eyes and prayed, lips moving silently as he beseeched the Emperor for His blessing. Beside him, his wife took his hand, squeezing tight.

"We stand with you, no matter what," she said. "Kasrkin to the end."

Nodding, he took a long drag on his lho-stick. "Very well. We'll follow these xenos to their Library. I don't like it, but if we're to stop Josephus, we must do whatever we can. The Chariot cannot fall into enemy hands."

/

Darron smoked in the master bedroom, letting the smoke curl around him before the draft from the open bay window sucked it out into the Gartenwald night. Lightning crackled in the distance, a spear of pure white light that stabbed at far away mountains. The rumble reached him a few seconds later, throaty and low.

On the wind, he could smell the rain. A storm was coming. His lho stick burned down to a nub, a small stick of ash that smoldered against his fingers. It burned, but he barely noticed the pain. A flick of his fingers and a spray of sparks sent the stick spiralling away into the night. Its replacement danced across his fingertips before kissing the end of his lighter.

_A storm is coming. Not just to Gardenwald, but the Imperium as a whole. _Already, the Thirteenth Black Crusade threatened Cadia, but the recent developments crawled under his skin, fat brown roaches that scuttled up and down his veins. They demanded attention. _Josephus. The Chariot. Sergeant Xiao Long. The eldar._

He wasn't much more than a child when the Lady Inquisitor selected his troop for duty. Sure he resented being torn away from Cadia, but a quieter part of him swelled with pride when his comrades were chosen above all others. They were selected for a higher calling.

Now he didn't know what to think. He knew service under the Lady Inquisitor would challenge everything he'd learned. He'd known she was a witch. In time, both seemed insignificant. Now, a war-party of xenos argued under the very floorboards he sat upon.

And his Lady's name was Weiss Schnee.

She came from outside the Imperium, a traveler across universes, across time and space once thought unconquerable. She came from a world named Remnant.

Now he understood why Yang Xiao Long had disturbed his Lady's calm. _Emperor, the way she screamed. _The pict ate at him. Never had he seen his Lady smile so broadly, so warmly. The revelations of the past few months seemed insignificant in the simple face of his Lady's youth.

Darron breathed deep of the lho that filled his mouth. He knocked the end of the stick against the window sill, watching the sparks flicker down into nothingness.

He missed his mother. He missed his father. No doubt they were fighting for every inch of Cadia... if they hadn't already sold their lives in its defense.

_That's where I belong. On a battlefield._ Thunder boomed, echoing against the mountains. For a hopeful second, it sounded like artillery. _This isn't what I trained for. None of this is. The lies. The truths. The reveals and misdirections._

He didn't care about travelers from other universes. He didn't care about xenos craftworlds.

Darron just wanted to be with his kin. His wife. He wanted to serve the Emperor with grace and devotion, bring his talents to bear in the searing heat of a hellgun. Slowly, his fingers laced through his hair, pulling at his pointed brown locks. _Why? Why Me? _He'd made his decision, though it roiled against his stomach.

_Chera… if I've thrown her life away on some groxshit mission… _a tear gathered in his eye, before it rolled down his face. _Emperor protect me. Emperor please, give me guidance. I've walked forever in your light, please… show me the way._

Lightning split the sky once more, and for a heartbeat's time, all of Gartenwald was visible.

The implications of Yang's words… the pict… the xenos' ancestry... _Beyond me. I am Cadian. I live to serve the Emperor. _It was all real… he'd been assured of it. Didn't make any sense, but he knew witchcraft. Served under a sanctioned psyker. He knew when warp-craft was afoot, and despite his desperate wishing, there was none poisoning his mind here. They all spoke the truth, even the xenos. _Emperor help us all_.

"Knock knock," Chera said from the hallway. When Darron did not immedietly respond, her boot bashed the door in, and it rattled on its hinges.

"Hey babe," Darron said, returning his gaze to the encroaching storm.

"I was wondering where you got off to. Yang and Amat disappeared to the kitchen I think. The xenos are still arguing."

"Good to see it's not just humans who are incapable of agreeing," Darron huffed, cleaning the salt off his cheek. "Honestly, I thought eldar solved things by stabbing each other in the back or having tea parties."

Chera chuckled, shaking her head. "Couldn't make out a word they were saying, but it was fun listening to. Even when they're pissed, it sounded like singing. Buncha fuckin' fruit."

Darron smiled wanly.

"You… okay babe?" Chera asked, her boots edging closer and closer. Before the oncoming storm, their scuffing was barely audible.

"Yeah," Darron said. "Yeah."

"Your fingers, babe."

Once more, the lho-stick was burning his fingertips. He'd ashed it in less than a minute. "Fuck," he said, flicking it away.

"Darron, don't groxshit me."

"Emperor," Darron cried, flying to his feet. "I'm fine!" His boot snapped the wooden chair in half. "I told you I'm _fine!_"

Chera crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. "Your boot's through a chair, darling."

"I-" Darron paused. "Fucking hell." He collapsed backwards onto the bed, digging his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "Fair point."

"It's fucked up out there, Darron," Chera said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her finger traced the nalwood frame, a single pale digit against the cinder-grey wood. "We've been caught up in something… we were never built to deal with."

"Fucking 'A'," Darron said. "This isn't what we're meant to do. I can feel it. _None_ of this. We should be on Cadia right now."

"I know," Chera said. "Believe me, I know. But we're here now. We have to make the most of it."

"Most of it? I just decided we're diving into the fucking _webway_ of all places. Just so we can find some Throne-damned answers. We're up to our tits in groxshit."

"Well, we got married, didn't we?" Chera asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Darron countered, suddenly confused.

"If the Lady Inquisitor hadn't swept us off Cadia, do you think we coulda gotten away with it back home? Made it work?"

Darron thought about his own parents before grunting an acknowledgement. "Wouldn't be easy."

"Woulda been a nightmare. And then what? We'd grow to hate each other, start fucking whoever we could out of desperation. Or spite," she added, chuffing. "Instead, this is what the Emperor chose for us. A life together." She curled up beside him, resting a hand on his chest. He took it in his own and squeezed tight.

"Yeah," Darron sighed. "Probably."

"Emperor help me Darron, if you add a 'but' there, I will smash your fuckin' head in. That was pretty sappy for me, and I need you to acknowledge how sweet it was."

Darron laughed and pressed a kiss to his wife's temple. "It was very sweet, until about two seconds ago."

Chera rolled her eyes, patting her husband's chest condescendingly. "I'll take it. Very low effort, but I'll take it."

"What if I lose you," Darron said. "What if this is the time one of us doesn't come back? All just so Yang can feel better about herself?"

"And Josephus," Chera reminded him.

"And Josephus. But what are the odds? What if we throw our lives away for nothing? I can't help… I can't help but feel like I've doomed us all."

"It'll be okay," Chera said. "Our lives have turned… have turned upside down lately, and… and…"

"Chera?" Darron asked, turning over to face her. She was crying, weeping into his shoulder. Her fingers tightened, digging into his fatigues, desperate for a semblance of solidity, of normalcy.

Something Darron couldn't give her.

"I just don't know what to th-think anymore. Nothing makes sense," she said.

Once more, a tear welled in Darron's eye. Instead of wiping it away, he let it flow. Soon, more joined it.

Together, they wept.


	58. Old Sins

A/N: Sorry about the hiatus!

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 57: Old Sins**

"_Only in death does duty end." - Imperial Proverb_

Yang paced about the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to finish its work. It hissed and bubbled, slowly filling up a steaming canteen. How long had it been since she had real coffee? Three years? Four?

It would be the last of the Governor's gifts. Once Chera returned from her supply run to the _Ascendant Dawn_, they would be boarding the eldar ship. The _Void-Whisper_, according to Maion.

Gamma platoon and the rest of the Woadians would be enjoying some much-needed shore-leave in the meantime. Yang supposed that was all well and good, but it felt weird knowing she was going to be away from them. Garnet said the trip should only take a month or so, but it would be longest she'd ever been away from the Rangers.

_Comas notwithstanding_, Yang thought. She'd spent a year with them. Training, sleeping, drinking, laughing, living, fucking, fighting, killing… they'd been through a lot. Now, only the strongest soldiers remained, two thousand souls where ten thousand once marched.

_Maybe the time away will be good_. The way the others looked at her sent chills running up her spine. Every time she wanted a nice fried rat, she had to deal with the Ranshan civvies chittering to themselves in hushed tones, watching her with wide, familiar eyes.

To say nothing of her comrades. Now, only Caolin, Mael and Asgeg treated her like a person. The others looked at her like she was the Aquila that hung in the chapel.

Yang frowned. The coffee machine beeped, snapping her back to reality. Scooping up her weapons and rucksack, she grabbed the canteens she'd prepared and made for the exit. Thunder spilled in from the gaping hole where the front door once stood, accompanied by the soft drone of a cold drizzle.

The rain was cool and chilling against her skin, beading up on the thin hairs on her arm. A manta crooned in the distance as she made her way to Amat's perch in a nearby pine.

_A beautiful sound_, Yang decided. She nodded at the eldar as she passed, careful not to stare too long at their fancy technicolor armor. Though they moved not an inch, she could feel their eyes upon her, sucking the freshness from the crisp night air.

"Yo Amat," she called as she reached the base of the tree. Sitting comfortably in the crook of two thick branches, he seemed at home. He was almost twenty feet up, but he heard her all the same, his head turning sideways in curiosity.

"Catch!" She hollered, hurling a canteen skyward. It disappeared into the thicket, snapping branches and twigs on its way up. It did not come back down. Grinning, she put the other canteen between her teeth and started her way up the tree. Sure she could have blasted her way up there with Ember Celica, but where was the fun in that?

Her ascent proved to be simple enough. Even though they were slick with rain, there were plenty of branches to climb. Holding the coffee so close to her nose was maddening… she could smell the liquid temptation through the cap, feel the heat on her tongue, hear it slosh around.

She didn't even like coffee, but she missed it terribly regardless.

"Yang," Amat said when she reached him. His exitus rifle was across his lap, and a leg hung over the edge of a branch. He was wearing his bomber's jacket. "Figured you'd come see me." His little nest was a carefully considered position - it had overwatch over the entire peak and the valley below. Yang could even see the town lights in the distance.

Yang removed her cargo from her mouth. "Am I that predictable?" Yang asked, pouting. She took a seat next to him, straddling a sturdy branch.

"I won't say," Amat said. He worked the cap on the extra canteen before peering at its contents. "What have you stolen this time?"

"Coffee," Yang answered happily. "None of that recaf bullshit, either. Actual, ground-bean coffee," she said, taking a seat next to the assassin. Around them, rain fell like muted bells, deafened by the needles that stretched over their heads. A few drops leaked through, spattering on Yang's fatigues.

Amat didn't say anything. Together, they enjoyed the peace of a quiet night, just as they had hours earlier. Yang opened her mouth to speak, only to bite her lip when she realized she had no idea what to say. Mercifully, Amat spoke up.

"I like the rain," he said. He wasn't looking at Yang, or the eldar that milled about below. No, his gaze rested far beyond that.

"Something up, buddy?" She asked. Amat smiled before raising his canteen.

"Thank you," he said.

"Of course."

They drank their coffee. As was his wont, Amat swished it around in his mouth, experiencing the new flavor to its fullest. Yang did the same, relishing the bitter bite of something she thought she'd never taste again. It tasted awful, but she savored every drop.

"I'd thank the Governor though," she said, sloshing the contents of her canteen. Amat shook his head.

"Not the coffee. For the talk we shared earlier. In the bar."

The unspoken: and afterwards.

Yang clapped a hand over his knee, meeting his eyes with a ready, roguish grin.

"Yeah, man. I had fun too. It was nice to get away, have some one-on-one." Like the time they spent hanging out in the weight room was any different. _Was it?_

"It feels like an eternity ago," Amat said. "But it's only been a few hours."

They looked at the eldar, watched them from up on high.

They drank more coffee, letting the warmth wash over their tongues and fill their bellies. The rain pattered against the pavement below them, a gentle lulling drone.

"We should... do it again sometime," Yang said. "After this webway stuff."

"Sure," Amat said. "I just don't think we'll be able to get to go to the same pub."

Yang laughed. "We'll survive, I think. Don't think we'll find a prettier planet though."

"It's nice here," Amat admitted. "It's so… clear. Even with the storm clouds, I can see for miles."

"Beats the hell out of the _Ascendant Dawn_, if you ask me," Yang said. "I wonder if this _Void-Whisper_'s gonna be any better."

Amat shrugged. "I have no idea. This is all very… strange to me."

"The eldar stuff?"

He nodded.

"It's almost unbelievable," Yang said. "I mean... what are the odds?"

"Very low," Amat said. His hands took to his drink, holding it carefully, as if it were a bird that would fly away if left unchecked. "The Emperor's portents are… unclear. Holy Terra... Pyrrha and the eldar..." He shook his head.

"I know, right?" Yang asked, running a hand through her hair. "I never thought she'd get over Jaune."

"Not that," Amat said. "The strangest part of this is that the eldar are a haughty and contemptuous breed of xenos. That one decided Pyrrha was fit enough to make his wife..." Once more, the assassin shook his head. "What madness have I been thrust into?"

"The best kind, buddy," Yang said, clapping a hand to his back. "The dangerous, unpredictable kind."

He huffed at that, taking a sip of coffee. As he savored the taste, his eyes snapped to the storm clouds above, where Chera's Valkyrie burst through. Its lights blinked on and off, a green-red beacon in the midst of grey rain. It swept low, shaking the pine they'd made their nest in. As Chera hopped out, she deliberately ignored the waiting eldar, instead unloading the cargo onto the driveway by herself.

Amat took another sip. _I think he likes it_.

"I wonder why Darron decided to go along with all this," he pondered. "The Lady Inquisitor was always a pious woman, but she never seemed to hold much hate in her heart for the eldar. One of her eccentricities that the kasrkin never picked up on."

"You're telling me," Yang snorted. "The Captain damn near gunned me down for trying to defend Maion. Or at least, he would've _tried_."

"I know the Imperium's hatred towards xenos isn't exactly... normal for you," Amat said. "The animosity between faunus and humans on Remnant was fairly pointless, after all." He sighed. "But you must understand... even though Craftworld eldar don't often openly oppose the Imperium, they are still our enemies. They see us as semi-sentient insects, and would gladly let the Imperium burn if it meant saving a single Craftworld." Amat sighed. "In truth, Pyrrha joining them is... highly disturbing."

"I'm sure she had her reasons," Yang countered.

"That's what confuses me," Amat said. "I know more of Pyrrha's life than even you. She was nothing if not pragmatic and levelheaded… where her family was not concerned."

"Well, now we have some more stable frenemies," Yang said. "What is it that Maion said? 'Intertwined fates'? Hell, I'll take that over 'letting the Imperium burn' any day."

_If what she said was genuine_, Yang thought, looking at the eldar discuss something below. Maion had appeared next to Lossamdir. They both watched Chera unload. _So far, they haven't given me them a reason to distrust them… so why did I think that?_

Amat's hazel eyes sank into the depths of his drink. "It doesn't sit well with me. The way Garnet spoke of your destiny? There was no warp-craft in his speech, but his gothic seemed… off."

"Yeah, they do creep me out a little," Yang admitted. "The way they talk... it doesn't sound natural. At _all_." She frowned. Long ago, she'd promised herself she wouldn't be swallowed up by the Imperium's dogma. But now that she was recovering from the shock of meeting them, their off-ness made itself known. _The eldar just look… wrong_. Their features were too lean, too perfect. Yang couldn't place it what it was exactly, which made their uncanny appearance seem more intense. _Maion's so deep in the uncanny valley she's about to hit bedrock. _The thought brought a chuckle, before she saw Maion approach their tree.

"Yang?" She called.

"Hey Maion," Yang said. Maion vanished in a puff of shadow before appearing in front of them, balancing on the end of a thin branch. It barely bent under her weight. Amat blinked, still unaccustomed to the power of a semblance.

Canteen in hand, she extended it towards the xe- eldar. "Coffee?"

"I shall… pass," Maion decided, her nose wrinkling. The fact that she looked so much like Pyrrha made it even worse. Made it hurt. Sent a pang through her, one that resonated in the same place that mourned Ruby. Ros. Rhain.

"Does Lossamdir have need of us?" Amat asked.

"No," Maion replied as she made to sit. Even though she was just settling herself, she seemed so fluid, it reminded her of the xenos on Uriel-

_**KILL**_

Yang grunted. _No, no no, I thought I was done!_

"He just wishes to inform you that our landing craft will be here shortly," Maion added.

Yang nodded absentmindedly, fingers digging into her temples. Red pulsed in her vision. Red, red, red like roses. _Fuck! I thought I was done! Why can't I be done? Why won't it end?_

"Yang?" The eldar asked, a long, languid hand reaching out for her. Concern etched itself into her face.

"I'm fine," Yang grunted. At this, Maion blinked. _Too slow, too reptilian. Too much like that half-naked bitch that I roasted ali-_

"You are not," Maion said simply. "Your soul shines like a beacon in the warp. As pure and warm as it is, it flickers." A pointed tongue ran over her full alien lips as a shudder worked its way through her. Ignoring it, Maion continued. "Just now, a hint of bloodlust infected your soul, did it not? Stirred by unpleasant memories?"

Yang leaned forward, ready to protest. She could not. Instead, she sighed. The rain picked up its pace, the calm drizzle building in force. More drops leaked through the branches, and Maion's hair grew damp. She did not notice.

"Yeah," she said. "Weiss is trying to teach me the basics, but I'm pretty shit at psykery stuff. I know it's really important." _What an understatement_. Ha ha. Ha.

"Through you, a daemon could wield considerable power. Mon'keigh sanctioning methods are crude and brutish, but they are functional enough as a stopgap measure. Why have you not received any?"

"We've been… busy," Amat said, before Yang could reply. "She only arrived a year ago."

"Josephus must fall," Yang reminded her. _Is that really the reason? Or do you just want to see Ruby again? _Her back straightened, a forgotten thought surfacing like a sun over an eastern sea. "There is something you should know. Can any of your friends hear us?"

Maion cocked her head in confusion. "They are not my friends. And no. They cannot."

"There's something else you should know about Josephus. There's a chance…" Yang swallowed. "There's a chance he knows something about Ruby."

At this, Maion's angular eyes widened. She shifted, antique green armor moving silently. In her arm, her helm gleamed, its eyes red like roses.

"What about her?" Maion asked.

Yang shrugged. "That's all Weiss said. She's gotten pretty good at head games, but this is something she wouldn't fuck around with. I trust her… at least with this."

"Do you think Josephus has anything to do with her?" Maion asked.

"I don't know," Yang replied. "I'm just repeating everything Weiss told me."

"This is a troubling development," the eldar woman said, her perfect face betraying nothing. Her eyes were another story - they were jade-hued spears, and maintaining any sort of extended eye-contact was difficult for Yang. It felt like they were impaling her soul.

"I know my sister," Yang said. "She would rather die than chaos... take her. Though," she continued, "Weiss said there's a chance it's all a fluke. She made... what did she call it? Well, she linked minds with someone who was possessed by some of Josephus' psychic bullshit."

"That is... incredibly dangerous," Maion whispered. "I know mon'keigh psykers were crude and short-sighted, but for Weiss to subject herself to such a mind?"

Yang was starting to see what Amat was saying. Every word spoken by the eldar was spoken with unwavering totality, and contempt _dripped_ from Maion's words.

"She's a very powerful psyker," Yang said. "And she was sanctioned on Holy Terra itself. I'm sure she can handle herself."

Maion shook her head. "Without proper instruction, all human psykers are suspect. Even Weiss. You should know this better than anyone."

"I... yeah," Yang said, rubbing the back of her head. As much as Maion's arrogance grated, Yang couldn't deny what she said was true. "I'm looking to get better."

"If you could harness your soul properly," Maion said, "you would be a truly formidable foe."

"I tried it, once." _Back on Uriel_. "It worked pretty well, but it fucked with my head. Put me in a bad place. I prefer using my fists," Yang said. Reaching over her shoulder, she patted the hilt of her sword. "The power sword's growing on me as well. Anything that cuts through space marine armor like tissue paper gets a pass in my book."

Maion smiled, amusement brightening her countenance. "That may be so," she said, "but denying your power is denying a part of the self. It could lead to dire consequences."

"I guess I'll have to work on it," Yang said. _But how? How long are the whispers gonna chase you? Who's gonna make them stop?_

"I have faith in you, Yang Xiao Long," Maion said.

Yang sipped at her coffee. "What do you think of all this?" She asked. "Heroines from Remnant ending up in the Milky Way?"

"It is beyond me," Maion said. "A warrior's heart beats within my breast. I am not a seer like Uncle Garnet or Uncle Sylvis. The currents of the warp will be forever distant. I am pleased to see you though. I never imagined I would see any of Grandmother's friends in person."

"Pyrrha was a good friend," Yang said, resting a hand on Maion's shoulder. "I'm glad to have met you as well. I'm sure she'd be proud of you."

_Who am I to say that? Why did I say that?_

As always, her brief contact with the warp had thrown her from her game. Everything seemed hazy and unfocused, like she was trying to open her eyes underwater. Did she mean what she said?

Maion didn't notice Yang's sudden regret. Instead, she seemed to glow at her words. It was almost enough to bring a smile to Yang's face. Despite Maion's arrogance, despite her otherworldly appearance, there was a person beneath it. A descendant of Pyrrha Nikos.

"I hope we can find Ruby," Maion said. "The galaxy would be a brighter place with her in it."

"Yes," Yang said. "It would."

The eldar's landing craft approached, a sliver of bone-white grace that sliced through the driving rain. It glided on currents of air like a water-bug, rustling the pines it hovered above. Yang shielded her eyes to get a better look. Already, the rain soaked them all to the bone, eldar and kasrkin alike.

"Time to go," Amat said, capping his canteen. Yang did so as well, disappointed they had to go. She wanted a few more minutes up there.

"If Josephus knows anything about Ruby," Maion said, "We will help you find it." A gauntleted hand fell over her breast. "You have my word."

A sliver of warmth filled Yang at her promise. It wasn't enough. "Thanks Maion."

"Of course."

They descended, down onto the pavement. Maion went to see her winged Uncle, donning her helm as she went. The rest of the kasrkin emerged from the manor, each of them solemnly gathering a piece of Chera's cargo.

The two parties stood far apart from each other, bracing the downpour with resentful dignity. Amat donned his mask again, a silent synskin statue. Yang wrung her hair out, letting rivers of rainwater run over her flak armor. She looked at Garnet, who was in the middle of sharing a joke with an annoyed Banshee.

_Is he as good as Weiss then? Maion implied he was a powerful psyker… Would he know what's wrong with me? How to fix it?_

"Enough rations, batteries and supplies to last us a few months," Chera said, toeing the supplies she hauled from the Valkyrie. "The Captain and Colonel von Israfel have been informed about the situation."

"Good," Darron said, shouldering a bandolier of batteries.

Yang did her part, scooping up six overstuffed duffel bags and shouldering her rucksack. "You guys ready?" She asked.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Janos grunted. His hand rested against his melta, knuckles white and glistening with rain.

"Serviceman Castellano?" Darron said, keying his microbead. "You're clear. Emperor be with you."

The Valkyrie waggled its wings and flew off, parting the clouds as it went. Even in the driving rain, even in the dark, Yang knew its weapons never left the eldar landing craft.

"Sergeant, for the sake of the Emperor," Darron said as he watched the eldar craft slow its descent. "Pray that this adventure does not end poorly for my men. Should anything go awry, you alone will stand responsible."

_That's not fair. You decided to go_, Yang thought, frowning. The eldar landing craft settled, grav-wash pushing the rain away to form great clouds of roiling mist. It soaked them all to the bone.

"After you," Amat said.

Yang went, but couldn't quiet the ball of dread that gurgled in her synthetic stomach.

The one that told her she might be better off just staying on Gartenwald.

* * *

The _Void-Whisper_ was immediately foreign to Yang. From the moment the airlock doors opened, she knew she was on an alien vessel. It was nothing like the metallic and intimate hallways of the _Ascendant Dawn_, nor did it resemble the imposing grandiose corridors of the _Scythe of Morning_.

It was sparse and bare, the walls free of wiring or graffiti. Every surface seemed to be made from the same material, a plain white metal. Occasionally, the starkness was interrupted by gleaming red stones, each one surrounded by spiralling black lines and intricate patterns.

As the eldar war-party shuffled past her hesitant comrades, Yang took the initiative and followed after them. Her hands caressed the side of a wall. It was smooth and creamy, almost like polished marble or soft plastic.

Amat followed next, eyes darting left and right as they took in every detail of the eldar ship. Yang shot him a grin and waved him forward. In truth, the entire place unnerved her, dug at the uneasy nausea that boiled through her ever since her conversation with Maion. It felt like a hospital or some sort of laboratory. Everything was so clean and sterile, she felt like she was being pinned under a microscope. But Amat didn't need to know that… and neither did the kasrkin.

If this Black Library place _did_ have the answers they were looking for, she wanted the Cadians behind her one hundred percent. She knew Amat would follow her no matter what, but something was off with Darron and Charon… not to mention their subordinates. They looked like they had walked into a den of beowolves. Their eyes were sunken and twitchy, fingers drumming on their hellguns.

"We did not anticipate an accompanying party," Lossamdir said, turning to face them. "So we ask that you quarter in the cargo bay. Garnet requested that you be free to roam throughout the ship, and I shall allow it on one condition - do not touch anything, and do not disturb the mariners whose business it is to run the ship. If you have a question or concern, please direct your attentions to Maion." Maion gave Yang and the others a crisp nod, an easy smile across her face.

"Hmph. Let's keep going," Darron said, readjusting the sling on his hellgun, visibly repulsed by the prospect of interacting with eldar any more than he had to.

Nodding, Maion waved them forward. The other eldar split off down a different hallway, one that snaked into the depths of the _Void-Whisper_. Yang tried making a mental map of the place, but with no right angles and a lack of distinguishable features, the ship was turning out to be a nightmare.

They reached the end of the hallway. Maion pressed her hand to a red gemstone, and a door revealed itself from the wall, sliding up into the ceiling. The lack of noise is what disturbed Yang the most - most of the bulkheads on the _Ascendant Dawn_ sounded like they hadn't been tended to in decades.

But at least they were familiar.

She couldn't deny it was still exciting to be aboard an eldar ship. Her sense of adventure still persisted. Following Maion into the cargo bay, she took stock of their new living quarters.

It was the cleanest cargo bay she'd ever seen. On the _Ascendant Dawn_, the holds were always chock-full of ramshackle Ranshan camps or disorganized stockpiles. Here, everything was organized into crisp piles, stored away in more smooth-white boxes. Each stack was labeled with foreign runes, waiting for use.

"There is plenty of space here for you to use," Maion said, gesturing to the empty expanse. "I apologize that we cannot afford you better accommodations."

"I'm sure you spared no expense," Darron muttered. Charon huffed in agreement, stalking off to the corner on the other end of the room. The rest of the kasrkin joined her, spreading their things out to make a small camp. Their weapons, rations, and wargear seemed so out of place in the minimalistic cargo bay. To Yang, it looked like they injected life into it.

Amat climbed atop a stack of crates nestled into a nook in the wall, resting his humble satchel bag on the corner to hang eye-level with Yang.

"You like making nests I see," she declared, leaning against his new lodgings. "Gonna make a nest up there?"

"I take up as little space as possible," Amat protested. Yang raised an eyebrow. "I like it up here," he allowed.

Despite herself, she couldn't stop a smile from splitting her face. She patted him on the leg. "Figured as much. Would you mind keeping an eye on everyone?"

"What devious plan have you hatched this time?" Amat asked.

"Amat, I am shocked!" Yang exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defense of her honor. "I have nothing of the sort planned. I'm just going to go for a little walk."

"Because it went so well last time," Amat countered.

Yang huffed. "Hey, you _admitted_ it was fun. I am insulted." Sighing, a fake, broad smile stretched across her face. "Ah, I can't stay mad at you." She squeezed his ankle. "I promise not to start any fights. Make sure the kasrkin don't have a conniption or anything."

"What's wrong, Yang?" He asked.

"C'mon man," she protested, ignoring Maion's words, the ones that thrummed inside her head. "I'm fine." Lied. "Trust me?"

Amat's reaction was invisible behind his spy mask. "I trust you," he said eventually. "I just don't believe you."

Yang smiled. "I can work with that. We're a team, Amat," she said. "You know that, right?"

"I do," he said. She held her hand out, and Amat took it in his own.

"This is just something I need to do by myself," she said.

"Now I'm really worried," he muttered. Yang could hear the smile.

"Don't be. I won't leave you behind," she said. Taking her hand back, she turned on her heel, the smile fading from her face. She didn't lie to Amat, but this is something he wouldn't understand.

Couldn't.

Yang left the cargo bay, purpose ringing clear in every step she took. The kasrkin gave her questioning looks, but they rolled off her back like raindrops.

The _Void-Whisper_ was confusing, but Yang had an idea on how to navigate it. Closing her eyes, she brushed her fingers against the hall. A signal bounced back, clear as day. The one that tasted like bronze and a warm smile.

Like Pyrrha.

She followed it, letting her feet carry her to her destination.

When she stopped, she stood before a great white door, its face engraved with elegant spiral patterns inlaid with glowing red stones. It opened, revealing the interior. Inside sat Garnet, his legs crossed, pale-blue energies swirling about him. Before him, a large red jewel stood atop a pedestal, spherical and pulsing.

Garnet turned to face her, surprise writ across his damaged face.

"Yang?"

Yang did not reply. Instead, she swallowed every inch of pride that she ever possessed. Pride was something that did not belong in this universe. She understood that now. There were far greater dangers than grovelling. The eldar were arrogant, but Yang could feel the power that filled the room, the crushing aura that spilled off Garnet. There was a reason they acted superior.

She got to her knees, hoping against hope.

"Please," she said, pressing her forehead to floor. "Please teach me. I can't stop the voices. I… I feel so trapped and helpless… and I…" Tears sprouted in her eyes. "I don't want to die. I don't want to succumb. Please… help me."

* * *

**A/N:** **Again, not an easy chapter to write. Had trouble balancing Yang's nature with the constant battery of the warp, and the lengths it makes her go. Hopefully it all seemed natural.**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you thought!**


	59. A Hand Outstretched

**A/N: Everyone hyped for RWBY V4 tomorrow? No? THEN GET HYPED!**

* * *

**Book II: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 58: A Hand Outstretched**

"_An open mind is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded." - Blood Ravens Librarians' maxim_

"_The universe is tripartite: the sunlight of the material plane, the darkness of the spirit plane, and the twilight of the spaces betwixt the two." - Spiritseer Iyanna Arienal_

"This is… surprising," Garnet mused. Yang looked up at him. "You know that prostrating yourself like that is unnecessary… right?"

Yang sniffed and wiped her eyes. Gave a weak chuckle as she unfolded herself and stood up. "I didn't," she replied. Given all that Amat had told her and her own observations, she assumed nothing less than total deference would win over an eldar.

Pyrrha's son or not_, _she was too desperate to gamble.

"You can help me… right?" She asked.

"Of course," he replied, a disarming smile spreading across his thin lips. "Anything for Ruby's sister, the great Yang Xiao Long." He paused to scratch at his chin thoughtfully. "Though I have never had a human pupil before. Did Weiss not teach you?"

"She tried," Yang allowed, running a hand through her hair. "I learned how to open a connection to the warp, but I struggled a lot. And when I used it in battle for the first time, it really fucked with my head."

"I see," Garnet said. He stood as well, tucking a strand of hair of red-black hair behind his ear. Turning his back to Yang, his hand caressed the pulsing red stone that sat in the center of the room. At his touch, it glowed, bathing the warlock in a sea of red light. A red like roses.

"I…" Yang tried, words failing her. Admitting it again was almost too painful. "I'm scared. Weiss is probably the best psychic teacher for me in the entire Imperium, and her… her lessons don't _work_. I don't think I can last forever against… it."

"It?"

"The warp," Yang said, kicking at the polished floor. "Weiss' glyphs help a little, and so does thinking about Ruby… but there's nothing permanent. I haven't slept well in months. Always with these horrible nightmares… and the… the _red_."

Garnet raised an eyebrow. "The red?"

Yang's fists balled, and she forced her eyes shut, forced a steady breath into her lungs. "I was never the most restrained Huntress, even on Remnant. You know that. But here… here, it's never enough. I just want to kill and kill and kill, and sometimes I'm almost overcome. I want to cut loose so bad, but I bite down the urges each time." She pinched the bridge of her nose, a pretext to wipe away another brewing tear. "And I almost fell. If it wasn't for Amat, I would have. I've... seen what lies on the other side. And the worst part is that a part of me _doesn't care_."

The eldar straightened, purple cloak rippling over his shoulders. "I see," he said.

"I just want it to stop," Yang said. "I just want it to end."

Garnet looked over his shoulder, a wide, familiar grin on his face. "You came to the right place Yang Xiao Long."

"Thank you. I don't have any other choice," she said simply.

"My mother had the uncanny fortune to appear on Il-Kaithe," Garnet said. "A human child that eclipsed some warlocks in raw psychic talent. A child merely fifteen passes old, more adept at war than most exarchs. And she spoke not a word of gothic. The ruling council at the time believed their _only _choice was to banish her. They saw only a mon'keigh, where father saw something different. A human."

Yang scratched her head. "Aren't they the same thing?"

Garnet only smiled. "My first lesson," he said. "Nothing is as it first seems. Ever."

Yang was a bit confused, but she was too relieved to care. "I'll take it to heart."

"I'm glad," Garnet said, his grin widening. "It will be my honor to teach you."

"So... " Yang said, scratching at her neck. "We good to start now?"

"Momentarily. For now, have a seat. Meditate. Calm yourself. It will make everything much easier. And safer."

"Safer?" Yang asked. "Should I get Amat?"

"That won't be necessary," Garnet said. "But for humans, accessing the warp is risky, no matter who attends you or how you do it."

Yang nodded. "If you say so."

With a swish of his cloak, Garnet departed from the chamber, striding past Yang with simplistic grace. It still unnerved her how... _easily_ they moved. Like the world moved around them, rather than them forging a path through the world.

There were no places to sit. Nothing but warm and polished metal. Sighing, Yang rested upon the floor. _A good as place as any_.

In Garnet's absence, the central stone seemed to dim and darken. Like a torch without its fuel. Breathing deep, she tried to calm herself, bring herself back to center. She hadn't planned to get so emotional. To open up like that.

_Especially to a xenos_, a part of her thought before she could strangle it into silence. _No. It's Pyrrha's kids we're talking about here. I can trust them. Garnet's going to help me. I'm going to get myself under control._

_Weiss needs to know that I'm not some naive kid straight out of Signal._

_But then, the question becomes... who am I? What do I want? How am I going to fix the Imperium if I'm barely surviving in it?_

_Do I even want to fix it?_

_What happens after Josephus? Abaddon?_

_Deep breath. Hold, hold, hold. Release._ A breathing exercise Amat showed her, for whatever good it did. The man had an ugodly amount of patience, something Yang sorely lacked. But patience could be learned. Psykery could be learned.

_I am a danger to my friends and allies if I don't endeavor to learn them both._

Garnet returned.

"I apologize," he started. "The mariners require their directions, and I, their humble guide, must abide them. Shall we begin?"

Yang nodded, and with her assent, Garnet killed the lights. Even the central stone dimmed, fading until blackness enveloped them.

And then there were stars.

Stars by the hundreds, stars by the hundred of thousands, little points of light that filled the room with a gentle, ethereal glow.

Yang gaped, reaching out for a collection of familiar suns. "This constellation," she said. "That's Reinhardt, the Templar Triumphant!"

"You recognize it?" Garnet asked, with a note of surprise.

"Ruby and me used to stargaze a lot when we were little," Yang replied, cradling the constellation. At her touch, the stars glowed, sending out a searing white line that connected each point. Upon completion, an image of Reinhardt flared into existence, proudly wielding his hammer-pistols.

"On Patch, the nights were so clear," Yang whispered. "Ruby taught me a lot of them. I forgot most of them, but this one was her favorite. That one and..." Yang reached out once more, caressing a cluster of stars. They did not glow like Reinhardt's.

"Mother did not know that constellation," Garnet admitted, eyebrow arching. "Though she spent many nights looking up at the sky."

"Ruby made it up when we were kids," Yang whispered. "Summer Rose, the Missing Huntress."

At her words, the constellation burst into being, and an image of Summer Rose in her white cloak appeared, a beatific smile on her lips.

_Mom_.

"I see," Garnet said. He beamed and bowed his head in appreciation. "I thank you for your contribution."

"How'd you make this?" Yang asked, turning to face the warlock.

"I built it from Mother's memories," Garnet replied, his smile marred by a moment of grief. "A small project that fills my spare time. You are welcome to a copy, of course"

Yang gaped for a second before speaking. "I... thank you. This... it means a lot."

Garnet extended his arm, and a device similar to Maion's tumbled into his fingers. Yang reached for it, but the eldar flicked it away from her at the last second.

"Of course, there are limits to my gracious magnanimity. Unfortunately, I have been lying to you - I only ask one thing of you in exchange for the gift of training and the stars of your homeworld."

"What's that?" Yang asked.

"Memories." Garnet replied. "Your memories, to be precise. Only my Mother's past remains to the Tou'Her. Though she was remarkably well-traveled, there are gaps. I simply ask you to contribute, so that we may better understand our heritage."

"What should I add?" Yang asked, accepting the disk. "I remember that you were a big fan of my sister," she said, wearing a half-smile.

Garnet laughed. It sounded like music, filling Yang's head with a lilting, intoxicating melody.

"Do not worry about me," he said. "Add whatever you wish."

"I will."

Clapping his hands, Garnet sat, settling into a meditative position. "Now, let us begin. You said Weiss attempted to educate you in matters of the warp?"

"She did," Yang said, mirroring Garnet's position. "I was never very good at it," she added ruefully.

"Please, enlighten me on your previous lessons. I will have a better understanding of your education."

So Yang told him. She recalled the details as best she could, and her glyphs brightened a few times, but were otherwise still.

When she finished, Garnet scratched his chin, brow furrowing in thought.

"As I suspected," he finally sighed. "Unfortunately, Weiss has polluted her knowledge of the warp with... mon'keigh coloring," he said, speaking each word with great care. "Though she was correct in many aspects, her understanding of the craft is mired in dogma and fear."

"What do you mean?"

"More than anything else," Garnet replied, "the Imperium teaches its citizens to be fearful of the warp and those that can access it. While caution is always prudent in matters regarding the Immaterium, the scale of the Imperium renders a more thorough -and more effective- method of instruction completely impractical... not to mention actively dangerous. The eldar approach things much differently."

Yang nodded. It made sense. There were a quintillion people in the Imperium, after all. "I suppose the eldar method is preferable, then?" She asked.

"Naturally. However, every eldar that has ever existed can wield psychic powers. We have had millions of years to perfect our craft."

"S-So what now?" Yang asked, trying to swallow the millions of years comment and having it stick in her craw. _Millions of years? Holy Terra on fucking rollerskates! The eldar are ancient!_

"We begin with a dangerous step," Garnet said. "Defense against the horrors of the warp is quite simple for an eldar. Most eldar make use of soulstones, precious relics that shield us from the glare of our most potent foe. In the Tou'Her, we have our prodigious auras to thank, as well as an adamant dedication to duty and family that shields our mind. Since you are human, you must take a different path."

"But I have both of those things," Yang protested. "My aura has been swollen ever since I got here, and I've been loyal to both Weiss and the Guard." _No matter how much it chafed_.

"True, but loyalty and dedication are different beasts," Garnet said. "They are meaningless without the whole of your soul behind them. You must start elsewhere. You must learn of what lurks in the warp."

"Weiss said that was some dangerous shit," Yang said, a chill crawling up the ladder of her spine. "And... I already know what's there. I've heard the whispers." _I've __**seen**_.

"They are but unwhole slivers of your true enemies, mere aspects of the warp's true horror. What do you know of the dark gods?"

Warning bells erupted in Yang's head, clanging and clamoring for her to either flee or finish the work she'd started on Garnet's face.

"Do not worry Yang," Garnet said carefully. "I only ask you so that you may better protect yourself."

"I don't know much," Yang allowed, "just that there's a couple of them. Heard their names once or twice... I think."

Garnet nodded, solemn and understanding. "I see. You should know that there are four - and two of them have an interest in you."

Yang couldn't stop herself from blanching. Her throat was beset by a sudden drought, and her lips worked, unable to form coherent words.

"They... they _know_ about me?" She demanded. "_Actual gods_?"

"They do," Garnet said. "On some level, at least. Any soul that burns as bright as yours invariably attracts unwanted attention." Taking note of her discomfort, Garnet breathed deep. The stars that surrounded them pulsed in time with his breaths, a soothing, luminescent rhythm. He indicated for Yang to copy him. She did so, and felt her nerves settle, her focus returning.

"Yes. From what you have told me, it is clear two of the dark gods court your attentions. I shall not speak their names, for even though we Tou'Her are resilient creatures, we are not invincible." He paused, as if gathering his strength. "The first and most dangerous to you is the Blood God."

Yang shuddered at Garnets words.

_Khorne_.

She didn't know how the word surfaced, but it was persistent, pumping like an artery and thrumming like the skin of a war-drum.

"You know his name," Garnet said sadly.

"Did you read my mind?" Yang asked. It was already enough that Weiss violated her mind, she didn't know if she could stomach someone else doing it.

Garnet shook his head. "No, your reaction was enough. Anyways, I shall continue. The Blood God is your primary concern. Even now, I can feel his terrible presence licking at the edges of your perception. Your aura keeps him at bay, but in moments of weakness, it will not always be so."

"I know," Yang said.

"The Blood God is fed by wanton slaughter. He is repulsed by restraint and peace-of-mind. There are moments when you will begin to lose yourself in bloodshed, when the red mist descends and you seek nothing else but a worthy opponent to break and bring low. In these times, remember that all violence has consequence, and that each action one takes must be carefully considered. In the long-term, one must reflect on what it means to take a life. Did each mon'keigh claimed by the Dark Gods surrender their soul of their own volition? Were they coerced? Deceived? Did they spend so long fighting against the dark that they lost the battle to keep themselves separate from it?"

Yang blinked. She… actually hadn't thought too much about that before. Every cultist she'd mulched, every heretic that she'd killed had always seemed driven to utter madness, deserving of neither pity nor mercy.

Had the endless droning sermons on the _Ascendant Dawn_ gotten to her?

The thought soured her augmented stomach.

"I'll do that," she replied.

"You must also know that the Dark Gods are not inherently evil - once, millions of years ago, the warp was a peaceful realm, and the Blood God stood for more palatable concepts - honorable combat, self-defense against the those who mean you harm. But the War in Heaven twisted him into what he is today. However, even in these ancient traditions, you will do service to the Skull Throne. Judicious and selective use of force will limit his influence on your soul."

Yang's mind reeled. "So… you're saying he can't be stopped?"

"He has no goals but death, no thirst for anything but blood. He will always be a dominant presence in the warp."

"But I…" Yang swallowed, forcing herself to admit it out loud. "I live to fight. I don't know where to start on making myself… _stop_."

"That is why he colors your soul so. His constant whispering has done little good for your disposition either."

"So what should I do?"

"What do you think, Yang?"

Yang fingernails bit into her palm. "I don't know! You're my teacher!"

"If I walk you through every step of the process, I will have taught you nothing but how to be a parrot. This is something you must meditate on, in your own time. Deeply," he added.

"I'll… I'll try," she allowed, breathing deep. Around her, the stars shimmered.

"The second God that has turned her eye upon you is more sinister, and deeply rooted in your soul."

"Her?" Yang asked.

"She-Who-Thirsts," Garnet said, trepidation beading sweat upon his brow. _It seems like even Eldar have something to fear_, Yang thought. In the mere utterance of the name, the room darkened, and a chill crept into the air.

In a heartbeat, it was gone.

"She is the Goddess of Pleasure. She feeds upon passionate indulgence, and is repulsed by moderation and contentment. When you kill, what do you feel?"

Yang said nothing. Her eyes met her boots, and her knees suffered the iron grip of her fingers.

"I will pass no judgement on you, Yang. I am perhaps the last person who would do so." He bowed his head so that Yang couldn't see his face.

"I feel… good," Yang admitted, the words crawling through thin gaps in her teeth. "I feel powerful. Like life and death are in my hands. Each time I break someone, it's… it's so satisfying."

Garnet said nothing for a time, so they breathed in silence. "I see," he said after a few minutes. "That is Her calling to you, to revel in not the blood you spill, but the adrenaline, the feeling of conquest and superiority. The Blood God drowns you in the need for bloodshed, but She-Who-Thirsts sings to you, a indulgent lullaby that slips into your mind and corrupts everything that you hold dear. She will subsume everything you enjoy, warping it into a parody of its former self. For you, Yang Xiao Long, the besting of your foes on Remnant was innocent fun. You defeated terrorists, criminals, and the creatures of grimm. On Remnant, winning against the forces of darkness was always a cause for celebration, a call to indulge oneself in the spoils of victory."

"It's not the same here," Yang realized, staring at her folded hands. She watched as they knotted and clenched, callouses rippling with tense energy. "You're right. Here, in the Imperium… it feels hollow. Like it's never enough. No matter how much"

"It never will be," Garnet said. "That is how She-Who-Thirsts envelops you in her clutches. It is a lie that has claimed so many. 'Once more', they think, as they stare at their vices. 'Once more, and it shall be enough'." He lapsed into silence, hands folded together. "It never is."

"It's not so simple, man," Yang said. "I'm in the Imperial Guard. Even more than that - I'm a… or well, I _was_ a Huntress. If I don't fight, what happens? More people die. People that don't need to."

"It isn't necessary to stop soldiering altogether," Garnet said, "merely distance yourself from it. From the surge of pleasure and the sensations that comes from each victory. The answer lies in duty. It is your _duty_ to fight and kill, not your privilege, not your escape."

Yang frowned. "I know that," she said. And she did. But she didn't feel it. _And that's probably the issue. _"I'll meditate on it."

"If you feel that is the best course of action, then by all means, do so," Garnet replied. "I will not educate you on the other two Dark Gods for the time being. For now, your goal is stability and balance. Without those things, you will be unable to progress in your craft."

"And what about the whispering?" Yang asked quietly. Pleadingly. "I want it to stop."

"It will," Garnet promised. "When you have calmed the chaos in your soul, the daemons will grow frustrated and powerless. A cliff without handholds is impossible to climb."

"I… okay," Yang replied. With a deep breath, she drew her attentions within herself, focusing on Garnet's words, closing her eyes to the stars that danced around her. _K- the Blood God feeds on rage. She-Who-Thirsts feeds on indulgence. Things I've… always struggled with_, she thought, hanging her head. Two years spent throwing herself head-first into both had not helped. _They've always been a part of me._

But that was a lie.

Opening her eyes, she retrieved the disk Garnet had given her. Her aura flared, her shoulder glyphs ignited, and she poured her soul into the humble object.

Instantly, Garnet disappeared, the ship disappeared, all was lost to an endless black - except for the stars.

"What do you think about those," Ruby said, pointing a constellation.

_Patch._

Almost sixteen years ago.

"I don't know," Yang said. "They're pretty though."

"They look like mom," Ruby said softly, her fingers pulling at blades of grass.

"They kinda do," Yang said, even though she didn't see her. There was a brief silence, before a warm, bubbly weight pressed close against her side, crushing a pigtail under its weight.

"I miss her, Yang." Ruby was crying.

"I do too. But I'll always be here for you okay?"

"Okay. I love you, Yang."

"I love you too."

Yang surfaced from the memory, gasping for air as she slapped at her chest. Garnet blinked once. She continued to wheeze, her mind returned to the present. To the _Void-Whisper_. It seemed so real. She'd visited the memory more times than she could count, but never so clearly. It'd never been that… _tangible_.

Holding the disk in her palms, she saw child-Ruby weeping into her shoulder, a grateful smile stretched across her tiny face.

For the first time in years, the memory brought a smile to Yang's face as well.

* * *

**A/N: Well, a look into the warp was fun, wasn't it? Unfortunately, it's the last bit of rest everyone will get for awhile. Next chapter... complications arise. After all, the _Void-Whisper_ is hardly the only vessel traversing the Webway...**

**Hope you enjoyed! Also, since this was a bit of an info-dump regarding warp-stuff, I'm sure I missed things, or, as someone is bound to claim got something wrong. While I'm always open to criticism, please remember that Garnet is explaining thing from an eldar point of view, and things might be different than how they're explained in canon, or at least appear different.**

**Yeah, Garnet's view is a little skewed, but that's both what he's been taught of the warp, and what he's learned of it himself. If I've done something _egregious_, I'd appreciate a heads-up though.**

**Enjoy the premier tomorrow! I know I will!**


	60. A Black Reckoning

**A/N: Why don't we check in on some other characters?**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 59: A Black Reckoning**

"_No one escapes the Inquisition. No one is exempt from its gaze, not even its members. Remember, only the Emperor is infallible." Inquisitor __**[REDACTED] **__to Inquisitor __**[REDACTED]**__, marked for all eternity as Excommunicatae Traitorus._

Weary. Shaken.

These were the words that hung from Yang's slumped shoulders, the ones that colored her fake smile. Amat worried for his friend. Ever since their brief talk with Maion, a pall had hung from her frame.

_Something to do with warp-craft, most like._ He knew how Yang felt about her near-fall. How close she came to the abyss. Though he stood ready to do his duty should the time come again, the circumstances had changed.

_A common theme for the final year of the Forty-First Millennium_.

He watched the kasrkin settle uncomfortably upon the floor, trying to make a temporary home for themselves on the alien surface. Even from his modest loft, they seemed smaller. Wary. _With good reason_, a part of him reasoned. They were aboard an Eldar ship, bound for the most secretive part of the dying webway. The larger part of him felt pity for them. The part of him that was Amat. The part that had been growing for years, found manifest in the past months.

But the kasrkin had no idea the significance of the meeting on Gartenwald. Who Pyrrha Nikos was. What it meant that her legacy lived on in the Galaxy.

Several months ago, he remained in the dark as well. A tool for the Lady Inquisitor, her Ace in the Hole. The last line of defense should all else fail. But she had changed that. Enlightened him. Shown him Remnant.

Another universe.

The implications were colossal, terrible in their enormity. But they were beyond him. His hand flexed, and he watched the syn-skin stretch over his hand, silent and rippling. _I am Vindicare_. It was not his place to question things, to seek out answers.

Yet they itched at him anyway.

Months spent meditating and painting had done him well on Uriel, but meeting Maion and the Tou'Her had thrown his balance once more. Without patience, without balance, he was lost. Yang was quick to trust them, as was her nature… and Amat was inclined to trust her judgement. However, she had spent barely a year in the Imperium. _With such a carefree attitude, it's a blessing she's lasted so long_.

Carefree. Buoyant.

These were the words that described Yang Xiao Long. But only her surface, he knew. Under the wondrous, mischievous smile, beneath the glowing curls of golden hair, there was shades of Weiss. His Lady. The misery that poisoned her judgement, the terrible loneliness that had thrown her from her citadel of self-control.

_Better since Uriel_, he admitted. The time Yang poured into lifting weights and throwing dice with her friends had helped.

Their brief expedition to Gartenwald's mountain village.

_Yet she still lacks purpose_. He reached into his satchel for his materials, though he had no specific project in mind.

Taking his pen, he let it rest against a pad of sketch paper. Only time would tell if his scribbling today would bear fruit, become paint and canvas. He touched the pen to his lips, a delightful sensation, a new one. Yang did it whenever she wrote something on paper. Always left teeth marks on the cap.

It helped the ideas flow, let his soul take charge of his hands before his mind could strangle the creativity. His hand floated to the center of the page, ready to scribe a pointed halo. An arc. Sharp and quick, a flick of the pen across the page.

_No. _His hand returned to his side. _That won't do._ How many Saints had he drawn? How many illuminations?

The pen shifted, ready to define the bold edge of an astartes pauldron instead. He stopped. How many battlefields?

Silently, the paper waited for him to make meaning of it. _Inspiration is a fickle mistress_. Amat looked up. Something Mother used to say. Real-Mother, not Vindicare-Mother. Closing his eyes, he once more tried to call up an image of Mother. Once more, only Palla emerged.

She had hair though. _Odd._ Too murky to make anything real out of it though.

The Chariot of Salvation came to mind. His training suppressed the shudder that demanded to be felt. Perhaps a naval piece? A prayer to the God-Emperor that they could find the Chariot before Josephus?

Amat tried to make the lines of a majestic battleship, lances glowing red as they blasted apart a heretical cruiser. The pen refused to move. He frowned. He realized he was frowning, and pressed his fingers against the curl of his lip. _Is this the first time I've frowned? Or the first time I've realized it?_

The grip on his pen tightened.

_Why did everything have to get so complicated? Why me, Emperor? What great plan do you have for me?_

He suppressed the urge to laugh at the thought. If there was anything Weiss taught him in his years of service, it was that there was no 'Great Plan'. There is no destiny or fate, nothing except the Emperor and the choices you make.

And what did Yang teach him?

The pen scratched at the paper, working furiously now. Life flowed into it, where it was once still. He drew, ignoring the ink that smeared, the ink that stained his fingers. It was only a sketch, after all. But it was good. It was damn good.

"Amat?" a voice asked. Chera. The Lady Lieutenant. His pen did not cease.

"How can I help you, Ma'am?" He asked. In the corner of his eye, he saw her wringing her hands together.

"I know Our Lady... showed you this world," she said.

Hesitant. Unsure.

"Remnant," Chera clarified. "Do you think she was lying? Did she... make it up? Exaggerate?"

Amat did not look up from his work. "I'm sorry Lieutenant, but my answer is not the one you're looking for. The Lady Inquisitor did not lie about her origins. She did attempt to..." he searched for the right word. "Distance herself from what she showed me, but the emotions tied to her memories were far too strong. In that sense, she lied. But she did not lie about Remnant."

Chera took that in stride, eyes downcast. Eyes so much like Yang's.

"And you know this... Pyrrha person?" A note of anger crept into her voice.

"I knew of her," Amat told the Lieutenant. "I do not know what would drive her to settle with eldar. On Remnant, she was a paragon of virtue and a powerful warrior. Here..." he paused, once more searching for the proper phrase. "She... arrived on Il-Kaithe. She had no way of knowing the Emperor's will. Regrettable, but the truth regardless."

"What are you hiding, Amat?" Chera asked. Soft enough to be a whisper, harsh enough to demand attention. Amat ceased his sketching.

"I have nothing to hide, Ma'am," he said simply. It felt like a lie, even though it wasn't.

"I know you pal around with Sergeant Xiao Long too much for your own good. In fact, I'd say you're damn near attached at the hip. What about her? What has she told you about this... Remnant?"

"She doesn't talk about it much," Amat answered. "For reasons she has made clear." His pen touched the page once more. "She is a good friend. And willful deceit is completely beyond her. Again, I apologize. I don't have the answer you're looking for."

"And do you really believe it's in... some other universe?"

"Yes, but I can't offer you an explanation for why I think that. I am Vindicare. Such questions are far beyond me."

"They didn't know about the Emperor there, did they?" Chera asked.

"They did not," Amat said. "As far as Our Lady knows, humanity evolved on Remnant." _As did the faunus_... but he neglected to mention them. "And there was no comparable figure in Remnant's history."

"No Emperor..." Chera hissed, her hand pumping, desperate confusion clenching and unclenching her fist.

"But remember, Lieutenant - Our Lady is an ardent devotee of the Imperial Cult. His Truth is evident to all that call themselves human."

_Except Pyrrha_, he thought, before willing it away, packing it away into a corner of his mind to examine later.

"I just thought I _knew_ her," Chera admitted. "Better than anyone else," she said. "The night before I married Darron, I had a panic attack. 'What am I doing?' I kept asking myself. 'I can't get married. What if he dies? What if _I_ die?'" She shifted her weight, radiating discomfort. "I confessed to the Lady Inquisitor my thoughts. Since she was the one performing the ceremony, I thought it would be best. You know what she told me?"

Amat shook his head, though he had already deduced the answer.

"Take what happiness you can, wherever you can. It doesn't matter if it all vanishes the night after. What matters is that you live without regrets. Without fear.'"

He didn't know what to say about that.

"After she told me that," Chera continued. "I thought she was about to burst into tears. And it was the closest any of us came to truly knowing her. But," she said, locking eyes with Amat. "I guess I was mistaken."

"Ma'am, I suggest not looking too deeply into this. Weiss Schnee and Our Lady are almost entirely different people," he lied. "It is not your fault you were born in the Imperium, while Our Lady and Sergeant Xiao Long were born on Remnant. They hail from another universe, but they serve the Emperor regardless. Is that not enough?"

Chera's lip curled. "It's not that simple. They're just… extremely powerful witches. You know such power does not come without a price. What's theirs? What secrets do they have?" A growl of frustration escaped her, and Amat watched her try and piece her thoughts together.

"And about what the one half-breed said. That Yang could kill the entire war-party… is that true?" Chera asked.

"Mostly," Amat answered. "I've seen her fight. Maion exaggerated only in the amount of effort Yang would have to expend. She would struggle, but I do believe she could best them all. Maybe not the aura-wielders too."

"The what?"

"The hybrids," Amat simplified.

Chera grimaced. "Shit, man. Not even the Astartes are that good. _Emperor_. What makes her better?"  
"Our Lady is equally powerful, yet better practiced," Amat reminded her. "And Remnant is not like other worlds. There, every human soul shines bright. They wear them like armor, wield them like weapons. There is no warp, no Dark Gods."

"No Emperor," Chera recalled. "How did they survive?"

"Carefully," Amat said, blowing a quick breath on his sketchpad to dry a spot of blotted ink. "Differently."

"They would be heretics then," she said. "A planet of witches and apostates."

"Yes. But only here. Different universe and all," he reminded her.

"You're assured of this?"

"I am. There is no other explanation. Even if we had the means to travel between galaxies, beyond the Emperor's light, the warp would still exist there," he reasoned.

"Then… are they even human?" Chera asked.

"Magos Prexius confirmed it herself," Amat answered. "She had to reconstruct most of Yang's stomach region after all. Can't make lasting bionics if you can't match the recipient's DNA."

"Huh," Chera grunted, considering that. "And do you trust Magos Prexius?"

"Not if she's interested in me," Amat joked, forgetting who he was speaking with. He paused his drawing for a second. "But about Yang? Certainly."

Training and hypno-indoctrination under the Vindicares had steeled him against the worst of what the galaxy had to offer, but even he found the gorgeous plastic face of Magos Ada Prexius unsettling. Her trembling excitement over Yang did not help.

"One last question, Assassin," Chera asked, her eyes darting to the cargo bay door in a flash of purple.

"How may I help you, Lieutenant?"

"Do you trust these eldar?"

"Of course not," Amat replied. "However, I don't think they actively mean us harm."  
At that, Chera frowned and tucked her hair behind an ear. "And how do you know that?"

"I don't," he admitted. "Merely my best guess." He looked at his drawing. It was… coming together quite nicely. "But if they did betray us, they would die. Make no mistake about that."

_It doesn't matter if they're Pyrrha's children_, he realized. _I don't owe her anything. I didn't belong to that world_.

But Yang did.

For her sake, he prayed Maion meant every word she spoke.

* * *

Leafing through her journal, the Lady Highest scribed another note into the data slate.

'There is no grey. Only white and black. Us versus them.'

It had been a day since she had arrived on Kastile Secundus, yet another day spent wasted while Josephus ran free. There was nothing she could do. The conclave was too important, and the Chariot of Salvation would no doubt be a keystone item of discussion. She had faith tt would be resolved. For now, however, she was the only other Inquisitor present - the rest still sailed through the warp, heeding their master's call.

The Hallowed Inquisitor and Ira were engaged in deep discussion elsewhere in the Headquarters. No doubt her master was evaluating him for eventual promotion. But the Lady Highest was confident in her pupil. He was ready.

With no one to instruct and no Yang to deal with, she was left with little to do. So she turned to her pet projects instead. Once more, she examined the title she'd chosen.

'The Sacred Flame'.

She took a sip of wine from a thrice-filled glass. It was a working title, it would do for now. There was little else to do besides some minor additions and editing polish, so she returned to her other text - _On the Machinations of War_, by Saint Macharius.

Infantry tactics and small-unit maneuvering had been instilled in her since the days she called Schnee Castle home, the lessons only strengthened in decades since. However, pure strategy, the movements of armies and divisions, tides of muscle and armor, how to keep them supplied, how to move them... all things remiss in her education, something she hoped to repair. Ever since that horrid dream in the Archives of Saint Totha, the text called to her, demanded her attention.

The Revered Saint's writings had served her well during the cleansing of Uriel. It had answered her questions and more - how to best employ combined arms in order to crush one's enemies, how to support the advance of armor with regiments of infantry. Saint Macharius had conquered a thousand worlds in seven years. An unparalleled genius.

Her hand inspected the simple cover. Only the corners were encased in bright gold. There was no better teacher, though she found herself wishing she could have spoke with the man himself on occasion. Reverently, she opened the text and flipped through the pages. Each word was familiar.

A dollop of blood blossomed on the page, soiling the work she'd studied. Another. Gingerly, she brought a finger to her lip, finding a stream of blood flowing from her nose. She closed the text before any further damage could be done.

Finding a rag of cloth, she pressed it to her nostril. A deep frown etched itself into her features. An ache struck the side of her head, pounding, tolling.

_Urgh_. _What is it this time?_

Shaking her head, she stood from her desk in her temporary quarters. It was a functional room - typical of the Recongrators, and sparsely decorated. Only a desk-borne cogitator, bed, and bookshelf adorned the metal walls. The Hallowed Inquisitor was expecting her later to address discussion points at the conclave, but it would have to wait.

This pounding in her head was no common ache.

She made her way to the medical wing. As she strode down the hallways, it worsened. Her steps quickened.

A lance of pain struck her head again, and she winced from the sheer force. Red soaked her fingers, and she realized the rag she had pressed to her nose was sodden and wet with blood.

The other hand laced through her hair, pulling pulling pulling at her perfect ivory locks.

_What's wrong with me?_

Suddenly sapped of strength, her legs collapsed from underneath her. She curled into a ball, froth spurting from her lips.

She screeched, hands locking against the side of her head. There was nothing, nothing she could do to abate the horror that assaulted her. Wheezing and weeping, she crawled on her hands and knees, desperate to flee the pain.

In the corner of the hallway, she curled into a ball, hands making the sign of the Aquila.

It did not help.

She did not know how long she suffered there, only that when Ira and her Master approached, her throat was sore, rent and bleeding from her screams.

"My Lady!" Ira said, her Master hustling close behind him. "What's happened?"

She couldn't answer her pupil, no matter how much she wished. Tears of blood spurted from her eyes, meeting the river from her nose.

"Oh Omnissiah protect us," Ira mumbled. With gentle grace, he scooped her off the floor, cradling him in his arms. "Can you summon a medicae?" He asked the Hallowed Inquisitor.

His green eyes were wide with shock, but he nodded. "I'll get someone from the medical wing. Stay with her in case it's… witchcraft related."

The Lady Highest screamed once more, ignorant of why. Her bloodstained fingers pulled at Ira's robes, desperate for something to hold onto. An unseen force pulled at her, drove her from the confines of her mind.

It was like being ripped apart, torn limb from limb, rent mind body and soul and

Ruby it felt like when Ruby died oh Emperor so much blood why her why her why her why her

why not me

why not me why did I have to live

WHY NOT ME WHY DID I HAVE TO LIVE

I DIDN'T WANT TO LIVE NOT WITHOUT HER

WHY NOT ME

_WHY NOT ME_

_**WHY NOT ME**_

Ira hustled her to her quarters, humming a prayer in binary.

"Ira," she whispered, trembling, trembling all over.

"Yes my Lady?" He asked, brushing a mess of white hair away from her eyes. Her mouth opened to respond, only to let loose another shriek.

"Why not me?" She demanded. "Can't you see?" She filled her hands with his red robe. "I taught you better than that! What are you _doing_?"

"My Lady…" Ira tried.

"Do you have any idea of the damage you could've caused?"

Ira's mouth opened, but no words came forth.

The Lady Highest just laughed, all sense and reason abandoning her. _He's coming_, she realized. _He's coming, and that will be the end of me. _

_At last, I'll be free._

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh. That smells like trouble to me...**

**Next chapter, we'll be back in the Webway with Yang and company... complications await.**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and let me know what you thought! A lot of you either disappeared or stopped leaving reviews. The latter is totally fine, I'm just puzzled as to why this story went from 30-40 reviews per chapter to barely 10.**

**Until next time!**


	61. Dreaming of a Better Age

**A/N: Something... different for chapter 60 of A World of Bloody Evolution. :)**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 60: Dreaming of a Better Age**

"_To serve the Lord of Change is to be both King and Pawn, for one is always the center of their own game, but never at the center of another's." - [REACTED], a Daemon Prince of Tzeentch._

Travel aboard the _Void-Whisper_ was different than the months Yang spent on the _Ascendant Dawn_. While she enjoyed spending time shooting the shit and working out with Amat, she missed her Woadian friends. No doubt they missed her too.

_If they're not already praying to me._

_No, no, no can't think that_. _They're smarter than that_. But still, the thought itched at her. She decided against sharing it with Garnet - she doubted he had anything useful to say about the worshipful tendencies of Imperial citizens.

At least the kasrkin hated her something proper. They made a concerted effort to not speak with her, which suited her just fine. Between training with Garnet, hanging with Amat, and meditating with the memory projector (something she deemed the 'brain box'), she didn't have time to deal with the kasrkin's bullshit.

She'd tried being friendly, but at a certain point, it wasn't worth the effort.

The eighth day aboard the alien vessel began like any other - snorting awake from a half-remembered nightmare, fists clenched hard enough to draw blood. Grunting her dissatisfaction, she watched the nail-bites seal themselves shut.

Could always count on her aura.

Above her on his cargo-crate perch, Amat waited in his Vindicare's trance. Whenever he wasn't with Yang or fiddling in his sketchpad, that was how he spent his time.

Though she had a sneaking suspicion he was making midnight rounds of the _Void-Whisper_.

Joints popping with displeasure, she stretched and shook the remnants of sleep from her mind. Yang considered messing with Amat, but decided to leave him be for now. Garnet would call for her soon, and she needed to prepare.

Progress on her warp-craft was slow, but she couldn't deny Garnet knew his shit. Admittedly, she was more comfortable learning from him - a xenos - than Weiss. The way he explained things felt… right, somehow.

Closing her eyes and crossing her legs, she began her morning exercise. Something she developed herself with Garnet's assistance. Just like Pyrrha, he'd been a consummate help and powerful friend.

She opened her connection to the warp, making sure Amat could see her. Once more, she dived into the currents of the Empyrean, subsuming herself in the pure, unadulterated chaos. As always, the whispers came. Incessant and demanding, they tempted her and cajoled her. They spoke of seeing Ruby again, of granting her unlimited power, promised armies of worshippers to place under her heel.

just like the woadians

No.

_I am above them_, she thought, her soul glittering in the endless whorling madness. _I am not a slave to myself or my desires_. Withdrawing the requisite power -no more than she needed, and no less than was required- she retreated.

Her mind returning to the _Void-Whisper,_ she puckered her lips and blew a small puff of warp-flame into her waiting hands. Born of her soul, she knew it would never burn her, even without her aura.

The whispers receded, but her head ached. Better than yesterday.

She turned the warp flame over in her hands, stretching it into shapes that pleased her. It burbled and burned, glowing in the darkened cargo bay.

"You're learning quite well."

Yang recoiled, bracing herself for attack. The warp flame fizzled and disappeared, the last of its light illuminating Maion's face.

"Terra, you scared the shit out of me," Yang breathed, quiet enough to not wake her compatriots. Maion nodded in apology, her face eerie and perfect.

"We need to speak with you," the eldar said.

"We?" Yang asked.

"It is imperative you come with me," Maion insisted. She crouched and offered Yang her hand, which she accepted.

"Careful," Yang hissed. "No sudden movements."

Maion cocked her head in confusion. Instead of answering, Yang pointed.

An inch behind Maion's head sat the barrel of Amat's exitus pistol. He was still in his placid trance, his eyes unfocused and cloudy.

For the first time since meeting Pyrrha's kids, Yang saw an eldar blanch. She grinned.

"Don't worry," she said, dusting her hands off. "He's not doing it on purpose. You should be fine as long as you don't try attacking anyone."

"Isha, is this what the Imperium does to its subjects?" Maion wondered, stepping back from Yang. The pistol followed her.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up, isn't it?" Yang said. "Check this out." Reaching up to her friend's face, she opened his mouth with a squeeze of her hand.

"My name is Amat," she said, imitating her friend's smooth baritone while moving his lips in time. "I'm the best shot in the Imperium, and Emperor I'm just so cool in my sexy pajamas"

"You're not wrong," Amat rumbled.

Yang's hand shot back, a heat rising to her cheeks.

"Ah heh heh... morning buddy," she managed. Amat said nothing, instead packing his pistol back in his holster. "Sorry about that."

"Mhm," he said. "Regret drips from every word."

"Yang, we need to be going," Maion said, looking quite perturbed by the whole display.

"Right." She beckoned at Amat with a hand. "You wanna come with, Amat?"

"Sure," he said, sliding down from his spot. The eldar blinked. _Not a part of the plan, apparently._

"Lead on," Yang said, grinning. A flash of hesitation flashed in Maion's eyes before vanishing.

"Very well."

They slipped out of the cargo bay and into the twisting alabaster hallways of the _Void-Whisper_. Yang yawned, feeling her headache recede. _Man, I could really go for more coffee._ _Why didn't I steal more?_

"Is there something wrong?" Amat asked the eldar. Maion didn't answer for a time.

"Yes," she answered. _How typically cryptic_.

"How bad we talking?" Yang asked.

"You'll know once we get to the bridge," Maion answered.

A silence came over them. Until Amat broke it.

"So, is mocking me while I'm in a trance a common pastime?" He asked, his tone light.

"Oh yes," Yang said, nodding with grave import. "Me and the kasrkin put on shows. You're missing out. Kinda," she added with an impish grin. He looked at her for a time before realizing her sarcastic tone. A smile reached across his face once he did.

"I just hope they were tasteful," he said. "However, judging by the pulp-print that you and the Woadians passed around, I doubt it."

"The bridge," Maion reminded them, pressing her hand to a red stone. An imperceptible door opened wide, exposing the bridge. It was the only place on the entire ship that was comparable to human designs - great monitors spat out line after line of data, each station attended to by eldar in fancy black robes. The place was still made out of wraithbone, but it was at least wrought into a recognizable shape.

Next to the Captain's throne - no chair that fancy could be anything else - stood Lossamdir and Garnet. Miracle of miracles - they were not at each other's throats.

The Captain himself was quite different from the eldar in the war-party - his hair had been cropped close to his scalp, and he dressed in nebulous regal finery, his robes shimmering with cosmic brilliance.

"Hey guys," Yang said. Garnet nodded a polite welcome, but Lossamdir said nothing. "Just put another one on the brain box," she continued, holding up the projector. "Emerald Forest during initiation. First time me and Blake worked together."

"I cannot wait to see it myself," Garnet allowed. "But currently, a situation has developed."

His voice lacked its usual levity, and it sobered Yang immediately.

"Shit man," she replied. "What's up?"

"We entered the webway some time ago, but until now, we have continued unobstructed," he said. "We must pass through a certain corridor, but forces of the Arch-foe impede us."

At his words, the blast shields on the bridge windows retreated, revealing the webway to Yang for the first time.

Walls of golden light enveloped everything, warm and pulsing with unspeaking power. Within them floated broken wraithbone spires and ancient scaffolding, the pieces so numerous and intertwined they were impossible to count. Remnants of a glory age long since passed.

It sucked her breath away. Even Amat swallowed.

"The Ail-Ithalya Shipyards," Garnet said. "A legacy from a time before Il-Kaithe. It has laid dead and broken for many, many years."

"Mariner Eldritha, bring up the scan, please," the Captain said.

"Captain Ellamár," the woman said. She pressed a button on her expansive console, and an image appeared in the bridge window, shattering the spell.

Blinking, Yang rubbed at her eyes. In the middle of a yawning aperture in the Webway's glittering walls sat two ships, dripping with hate. Each was a blue-gold sliver of the arch-foe, etched with horrid symbols and covered in malicious spiked protrusions. Yang averted her gaze, feeling her hackles stand on end.

"Two patrol frigates," the Captain said. "Each of them belonging to Azrek Ahriman." Though he spoke the name with dripping contempt, the name sent a shudder crawling through Yang. Even Amat's lip curled at the Captain's words.

"Who's Ahriman?" Yang asked. "Judging by the ships, he's someone who needs a boot up his ass STAT."

"You're not wrong Yang," Amat said, "but he's far more than that. He is one of the first traitor astartes, and the most powerful sorcerer that serves the Dark Gods."

"It is slightly more complicated than that," Lossamdir sneered. Yang bit down an angry retort when she realized his attitude had nothing to do with Amat's explanation.

"Ahriman serves no one but himself," Lossamdir continued. "He's been seeking the Black Library for ten thousand years, filling the webway with eldar dead."

"Fuck man," Yang said. "He's not like... on one of those ships, is he?"

"No," Garnet said. "You would know if he was. Praise Isha's bones that he is nowhere near us."

The rank fear in his voice unnerved her. So far, the Eldar had never failed to wave their arrogant cocks around over how much better they were than humans. Even Pyrrha's kids couldn't restrain themselves from partaking. But now, Garnet sounded like he was about to shit his pants at the prospect of seeing this… Ahriman person.

"He's been accumulating power for millennia," Lossamdir said. "Enough to threaten the Harlequins, the guardians of the Black Library. Even now, his arrogance is unprecedented... to send patrols about the Webway as if he owns it himself."

"Well it's just two ships," Yang said. "They're smaller than us. Let's fuck 'em up and bug out before they can tell Ahriman."

The Captain sighed. "It is not that simple," he said. "Our ships are not always brutish dealers of death and destruction like those in the Imperial Navy. The _Void-Whisper_ is exactly what its name implies - a ship that runs fast and quiet. It is built for infiltration."

"Don't tell me this thing doesn't have _weapons_," Yang said, aghast.

"We do," the Captain said. "Enough to take down one frigate. Not two."

"Have they spotted us yet?" Amat asked.

"The _Void-Whisper_ is an Infiltration ship," Lossamdir reminded him. "We are hidden from them. For now."

"And what do you want me to do about this?" Yang asked Maion. "Ship stuff isn't exactly my specialty."

"We have a plan for defeating them," Lossamdir said.

"Obsidian thought of it himself," Garnet said, a hint of warmth returning.

"That fool had nothing to do with it," Lossamdir snapped. "Do not test the patience of a thousand souls by insinuating a dangerous malcontent controls their whims."

Garnet shrugged, a delightfully human gesture. Yang couldn't help but grin at her tutor's flippancy. "Tell our human allies your plan then, Lossamdir."

"We will board one of their ships and disable it," the exarch said. "An… overturning of established naval doctrine, but the only option available to us."

The Captain grunted his assent. Clearly he had reservations.

"Well, I'm down for it," Yang said. "But are you sure we can't just sneak past them? You said this was an infiltration ship."

"They are directly in front of the corridor," Garnet said. "Even if we could survive passing between them, they would hound us all the way to the Black Library. Or worse - report us to their Master." He sighed. "I don't know which would be worse - allowing Josephus to seize the Chariot or leading Ahriman to the Black Library."

"Given that Warlock Garnet has _insisted_ this is the only path forward," Lossamdir said with a sideways glance at his former brother, "our options are extremely limited."

"There is no other way," Garnet replied. "My soul sings the truth of it."

"So why am I here?" Yang asked. "Want me to break the news to the kasrkin?"

"Not quite," Maion said.

"The kasrkin have proven difficult to work with," Lossamdir answered, "as mon'keigh often are."

"'Like herding cats', as Grandmother used to say," Maion added. Yang giggled.

"Sounds about right. They're not my biggest fans."

"You're here because you are joining the war-party on the boarding mission, and the kasrkin will remain behind."

"I go where she does," Amat said, a simple fact.

The assorted eldar exchanged a flurry of looks before nodding their assent.

"Understandable," Maion said. "You are welcome to join us. It is imperative that this mission go smoothly, and any obstructions could mean our deaths."

"I understand," Yang said. She forced herself to look at the ships again, study their rune-coated hulls. Her shoulder smoldered, and a few of the eldar recoiled at the faint glow of her glyphs.

"Which one are we boarding?" She asked. They wore different paint jobs and had different kinds of heresy scrawled on them, but they otherwise identical.

"The one on the right," the Captain answered. "They are both fairly small ships, and their crew cannot number more than five thousand. As they are part of Ahriman's fleet, it is likely there are far fewer. It is assured there are countless rubrics and spells that automate most of the ships' functions."

"So what do we do once we're aboard?" Yang asked with a wide grin. She already had a good idea of what was to come.

"Hack their systems to pieces," Maion answered. "Disable their weapons and engines, leave them as easy prey."

"Fighting one ship at a time is well within my capabilities," the Captain said. "And eliminating half of their firepower drastically increases our survivability."

Yang fist met her palm. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go kick their asses."

Maion cracked a small smile. "I told you she would be on board."

"It was never in doubt," Garnet replied.

"I shall ready the war-party," Lossamdir said. "Khaine grant us strength and Isha protect us all."

* * *

Yang slapped a fresh battery into her lasgun, savoring the hum of readiness. She engaged the safety and handed to Amat, passing it over Chera's head.

"Now, it's nothing like the Sister's gear," the Lieutenant said, "but it'll keep you safe in a vacuum. For a little bit at least." With a grunt, she buckled the cuirass onto Yang. "Apparently there's oxygen out there, but you shouldn't take chances. Activate your mag boots."

Yang obeyed, tapping a rune on the interior of her armored wrist, just above Ember Celica. Her new boots hissed and locked themselves to the floor.

"Those will keep you locked onto any ship surface you want," Chera explained. "You got that?"

"Yeah," Yang said. "Thanks for this by the way. Really appreciate it."

Chera handed Yang a helmet.

She stared into the hazel-tinted visor at her distorted reflection. The kasrkin hadn't been pleased with their reduced role in the upcoming operation, and it was only at Amat's insistence that she be allowed a spare suit of Carapace armor. It was some well made stuff, certainly better than flak armor. Heavier too. Yang rolled her shoulders. Still too bulky by her standards. Still too restrictive and suffocating, but she wasn't about to tell the Lieutenant that.

"Ge that hair of yours under control and test the seals."

Yang bristled, but obeyed. Her hair was a touchy subject. Binding her hair into a rough bun with the help of a few scrunchies, she took the helmet and locked it into place. Hisses issued forth from the seals, and a simple HUD scrawled across the visor.

Not horrible. Not what she preferred, but it would serve. Chera rapped her fist on the side of the helmet.

"You're ready up, Sergeant," she said.

"Good to hear," Yang replied. Making a fist, she watched the interlocking black plates fit over each other. If it weren't for Ember Celica, they'd make for passable bracers.

"Janos has something for you," Chera said, nodding the kasrkin over.

"Oh?" Yang asked.

"My melta," Janos mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. "Captain Darron said to hand it over in case you guys run out of explosives over there. I know we're supposed to stay aboard in case they try and board us in return, and I don't think the eldar'll appreciate what this thing will do to their hull."

Yang accepted it, eyes glowing hungrily. Meltas were, in her educated opinion, fucking _awesome_. What's not to like about a gun that shoots _nuclear meltdowns_? She'd never had a chance to fire one either. When she took it in her hands however, something came over her. This weapon was Janos' life. He'd been carrying this thing for decades, if not longer. Judging by their rarity, he was one of the few thousand lucky enough to even hold one.

It wasn't a bauble to use for her amusement. Sure it could probably fuck up the Son's ship something fierce, but explosives weren't always necessary to do damage.

_Honestly, what could a melta do that I couldn't do with my sword or my hands? _She handed it back to him.

"Too heavy for me," she said with a smile. "Keep it."

"If you say so, Sarge," Janos said, happily accepting his weapon back.

Amat hopped down from his perch, landing noiselessly. His exitus rifle was slung across his back, ready to kill. Yang tossed him his lasgun, which he caught without effort.

"Wise," he said. "Ammo?"

"Right here," Yang said, kicking at her rucksack. Her bandolier and batteries were within, folded up nice and neat. Retrieving them, she gestured for Amat to turn around. "Lemme buckle you up," she said.

He nodded, accepting her help. After adjusting the piece of canvas to fit on his frame, he handed her the buckle, which she snapped into place.

"And what will you use?"

Yang grinned. "Ember Celica, of course." Her gauntlets fit over the Carapace armor, thank Terra. They expanded into their full form, hissing and clacking into their full glory. With the two bandoliers of shells across her chest, Yang wouldn't be starved for ammo.

Maion stepped into the cargo bay, her face placid and calm, devoid of all expression.

"It is time to begin."

* * *

Magos Hagai awoke from his trance, drawn from the infinite glory of the Empyrean by the shrill caw of his war-bird. Gorrag crowed once more, her adamantium-tipped beak parting to reveal a barbed tongue. The Magos blinked, acclimating himself with realspace once more.

His mind had flown far, seen much - and something was amiss.

The dogged flares that had chased him across the Segmentum were flickering. Of the two, the brighter one had vanished from sight. _Yang_, the machine-spirits burbled, voices dripping with warp-tainted power. Perhaps the indomitable warrior woman had finally met her demise.

The Lady Inquisitor's soul, however... it flickered and wavered like a torch in a downpour. Why did she struggle so? The blessed touch of the warp had been stiffly rebuffed each time it caressed her, and it did not assail her now.

Before him, his scrying mirror was devoid of answers. It simply sat, once more a screen of polished silver.

His eyes met his reflection, two orbs of pure and piercing blue. He grinned, watching his face contort and bend to his will. A most excellent acquisition. It was supple and strong, handsome by mortal standards. It served its purpose - a magnet for attention and adoration by the benighted masses.

Around him, his chambers continued their purring. Miles of cables snaked around great machines, each one bearing the improvements of the Lord of Change. Tendons and tattooed skin-films coated the Magos' works granting them the power of their ultimate Master. Some bore massive pistons, oiled red and working perfectly.

Gorrag cawed, demanding attention from her master.

"Hush now," Magos Hagai cooed, striding over to his war bird. Gorrag watched him closely with the eyes he had built for her. They clicked and whirred, masterpieces of design that fused the teachings of the Mechanicus with the Lord's eldritch power.

He reached up to stroke her neck, combing his metal fingers through shining black feathers. Soon, she would be large enough to receive the remainder of her gifts. Large enough to ride.

"Shhh," Magos Hagai hushed, calming his treasure. "What troubles you so?"

Gorrag did not tell him. Despite the countless gifts he lavished upon her, the augmentations and mechanical blessings... she was still only a bird.

"Caw!" Gorrag screeched.

Magos Hagai frowned. "How long have I been entranced?" He asked.

"It won't tell you," a voice rumbled. Xhora, his assistant. The daemon poured over a pile of tomes, its seven arms juggling books at notepads. Today, the creature had donned yet another appearance - a manlike shift, with a serpentine neck connected to a face with three eyes and a vertical mouth.

"Then answer me, daemon," Magos Hagai replied.

"Some matter of days Lord," Xhora said, disinterest dripping from every word.

"Did you do as I commanded you?" Magos Hagai demanded. Too long had Xhora been a thorn in his side, a constant needling ache that refused to act according to his whims. The daemon had been summoned for an express purpose, one that he performed with undisguised lethargy.

"I am still at the task you commanded me to perform," Xhora said disdainfully.

"Not that," Magos Hagai said. "Did you feed Gorrag?"

"I did not," Xhora said. "It slipped my mind," he added, every word indicating that it never left his thoughts.

Magos Hagai filled his steel hand with the daemon's serpentine neck and pulled. Its head came loose in an instant, parting from its neck in a shower of multicolored blood and rancid meat. Its mouth open and closed, confusion wrought plain in his blue-black eyes.

The daemon melted away into nothing, banished back to the Empyrean. Next time, Magos Hagai resolved, he would build a proper servitor, or find one of his most capable followers to be his assistant. They were often soft and weak-minded, unable to properly parse the tomes he requested without being given over to chaos, but they were better than daemons.

An unpredictable and troublesome lot, daemons were.

But for now, he could do without an assistant. The Promised Time was at hand. The Lord of Change had granted him the knowledge he'd sought so desperately, and soon, so soon, the Chariot would be his. Soon, his armada would drop out of the warp, and his purpose, his glory would be realized. Millennia spent in service to the Dark Gods had been properly rewarded.

With the Chariot of Salvation, he could usher in a new age of Technology. Mars would bend to his will, and the stars would surrender their relics one by one. The Imperium would crumble, the Interlopers would come to serve him, and Abaddon… Abaddon would _burn_.

Gorrag cawed, no doubt desperately hungry.

"Yes yes, my sweet," Magos Hagai said. "Have patience. Patience is a powerful virtue."

* * *

**A/N: Holy crap you guys, already on Chapter 60? Time certainly flies! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, but there's a few things you should be aware of:**

**#1 - Meltaguns don't _actually_ shoot nuclear meltdowns, but Yang doesn't know enough about the nitty-gritty details of Imperial tech to care about the difference.**

**#2 - I am rather untested at writing Chaos-aligned characters, so if I fucked something up, please let me know.**

**#3 - I can't really lock down what the Webway looks like from within, so we're just going to go with something appropriately eldar-y. If anyone has a better source for how it looks, I'd appreciate being pointed in the right direction. For now though, it'll stay as is.**

**#4 - Thanks for all the reviews last time, guys! From my end, a lack of reviews makes it look like people aren't reading the story, so I was a bit concerned (even if I knew that wasn't the case). I totally understand that you can't drop reviews all the time though, so I appreciate the flood of responses I got. **

**Next time, Yang returns to her favorite past time.**

**KICKING ASS!**


	62. Of Men and Xenos

**A/N: Once more, unto the breach!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 61: Of Men and Xenos**

"_They... didn't come back right," Veteran Sergeant Janice Vadiik, after Naval Armsmen performed a boarding action on the heretic cruiser _Cruelty's Purpose.

Yang couldn't stop the smile that stretched across her face. Once more, it was time to deploy. She'd learned a lot from Garnet and enjoyed the relative safety of the past few months, but it had been too long since she'd seen any real action.

The landing craft was not like the ones she was used to - it did not rattle or shake as it sliced through the Webway, nor did it reek of promethium fumes and vomit.

Yang gave Maion a thumbs-up, which was not returned or even acknowledged. None of the elder responded. Apparently, they'd all donned their 'war-masks' or whatever. Supposed to keep their emotions in check during combat. The concept riled Yang a bit, but she didn't care. She was just excited to fight alongside Pyrrha's family.

Garnet had changed as well, his impish grin and bright-eyed mirth wholly absent.

Eerily, Amat was one of the more animated warriors in the landing craft's bay. He checked over Yang's lasgun, sighting down the barrel with care and precision.

"Make ready," Garnet said, his voice even and monotone. "My illusion will only last for so long, and the landing craft will only be facing the enemy craft for a short time."

As one, the eldar stood, shuffling into two meticulous lines.

Yang threw Amat a shrug before joining their alien comrades. They'd been over the plan five times now. It was time for action. The bay doors shot open, revealing the dead shipyards behind them.

A lurching sensation pulled at her as the landing craft made a sudden pivot.

"Now!" Lossamdir called.

The war-party flung itself from the hold and into the webway. Yang let loose a whoop of joy as Ember Celica roared, blasting her forward. Even in the confines of the Carapace armor, the sensation of true weightlessness was breathtaking. They were soaring through nothing, no up nor down, only two twisted frigates in the distance. Their destination.

Against the golden walls of the webway, Ahriman's frigates were ugly, ruinous scars. They reeked malevolence, and the symbols etched deep into their hulls seemed all the more hateful the closer they flew. The Prodigal Sons - Ahriman's personal warband - had lavished attention and worship upon their vessels.

Yang turned her mind away from the ships. If she let herself stare too long or focus too hard, her shoulder would flare up anew. Instead, she looked to the war-party as they streaked across the shattered shipyards.

The Swooping Hawks flapped their wings, helping the more spatially-challenged of their comrades adjust their course. The landing craft had flung them at a decent pace - fast enough to make the wait bearable, slow enough so that they wouldn't splatter against the side of the enemy hull.

As for Amat, he was a surprisingly adept flier... if 'flier' was the right word. _Maybe 'floater'_? Regardless, he seemed comfortable about having gravity ripped out from under him.

Yang was loving it. She'd heard about the Void-Shrikes and other Guard regiments trained in void warfare, but the Woadians lacked the equipment, and never ventured out into zero-gee.

Granted, the webway wasn't the empty void of space, but it was almost as pretty. Golden beams of energy pulsed alongside ancient pearlescent data streams, flitting across the walls with ethereal beauty.

They passed a arch of shattered wraithbone as it began its millennia-long journey to the other end of the corridor.

_This place must have been quite a sight when it was whole_.

With a slight readjustment from Ember Celica, Yang maneuvered closer to Amat. She twirled and spun, enjoying how little her pose affected her flight dynamics. Even though this section of the Webway was oxygenated, they flew through the air like it wasn't even there.

"Quite a place, huh?" Yang asked, perpendicular to Amat.

He looked at her, 'down' from his perspective.

"It is," Amat said. Nearly whispered. "The Webway is... quite stunning."

Yang laughed, pulling her helmet off and shaking her hair free.

Amat's visor tipped quizzically.

"You should try this!" Yang said, undoing her bun. The air was stale and undeniably ancient, but it rippled against her skin like unseeable silk as she passed through it, fluttering her hair gently.

Yang spun, letting her hair regain its volume. She did a few flips, marveling at the total lack of disorientation or harsh pull of gravity.

"You're having fun," Amat noted, the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Hell yeah I am," Yang shot back. "This is _awesome_. The eldar aren't shooting me nasty looks are they?"

Amat looked about him, turning around to ensure everyone was within their sight. "Not that I can tell."

Yang grinned. Plucking a shotgun shell from her bandolier, she showed it to Amat. "Wanna play catch? We got a minute before we get there."

Amat pivoted, double-checking her words. She released the shell, watching it float above her. A deep laugh escaped her.

"Dude, look at this, this is awesome!" She cried.

"Don't lose it," Amat noted.

"Oops, shit," Yang said, grabbing at the shell. It had floated down from its original position a bit, air resistance dragging it behind them.

With a giggle, she threw him the shell. He caught it without effort.

"You're a natural out here," Yang said. "Let me guess... super secret assassin training?"

"Hardly a guess on your part," Amat said.

"Hey, I'm right, and that's all that matters. How am I doing?" She asked, catching the shell on its return path.

"Not bad," Amat allowed. "Your movements are a little sloppy, however. If this were a real vacuum, one wrong move would send you spinning into oblivion or careening out of control."

Yang laughed. "I'll keep it in mind on my next EVA excursion. Think Weiss would let me do repairs on the _Scythe_?"

"Knowing her," Amat replied, "she wouldn't be satisfied with repairs unless they were done by the Fabricator-General himself."

"So... that's a no then?"

"Probably," Amat said. "Might want to gear up. We're about to land."

Wasting no time, Yang tied her hair into place and tucked it into her armor. She grabbed her helmet too, looking at the beaming reflection in its hazel visor. With a sharp twist, it sealed into place. She was ready.

"Fifteen seconds," Lossamdir said.

Yang blinked. Up close, the frigate looked far bigger than it had before, seeming to swallow up the whole of the webway in its shadow. Her glyphs glowed bright, even though she made a concentrated effort not to look at the blasphemies scrabbled on the hull.

"Ten seconds!"

With a grunt, she flipped herself around, pointing her feet at the frigate. It'd been fun while it lasted. Amat did the same, each muscle under his catsuit moving with unerring accuracy, as if this was something he'd done hundreds of times.

"Five!"

Yang braced her aura, reinforcing her knees as well as the plates that adorned her legs.

"Four! Three! Two! One! Impact!"

The webway came to a brutal stop as her feet connected with the enemy hull. A few grunts of pain issued forth from a few of the eldar, but they seemed unhurt. Glances flew between them like stubber rounds. _They're talking about something_, Yang realized. She turned to watch Amat land and almost let out a bray of laughter. He landed _exactly_ like a cat, arched back and all four limbs splayed out to evenly distribute his weight.

Noting her amusement, he rolled his shoulders dismissively.

"Wish I had my scroll," Yang said.

"No such luck today," Amat replied.

After collecting the eldar that had bounced off or missed the LZ, they gathered around the selected breaching point.

Lossamdir made a few hand gestures, and the Banshees took point, Ysdrea and her two companions stacked up around Yang.

"Are you ready?" The Exarch asked, all business. Yang nodded, drawing her sword and thumbing the activation rune. Cobalt lightning shot down the blade, casting the side of the frigate in a soft blue glow. She took a deep breath.

"Three... two... one!" She jammed her sword into the hull, cutting into it like it wasn't even there. In a second, she'd cut a man sized hole. "Breach, breach, breach!" She cried, kicking it in with the heel of her boot.

Ysdrea was the first one in, grabbing the hull with both hands. Yang grabbed her belt and hurled her inside with all her strength.

"Go!" Yang cried, doing the same for Ysdrea's companions. "Go!"

Yang followed the Banshees, fighting the rush of sickening, burnt air that spilled out of the breach. Launching herself within, gravity returned with a vengeance, slamming her boots against the floor.

Inside, whatever battle they had expected had swiftly become a massacre. It was chaos. The hold they'd breached into was littered with bodies, as the hastily-assembled repelling team lay slaughtered and unwhole, already fallen prey to the Howling Banshees. As the eldar women cut their way through the cultists, they let out an ungodly screech.

It was more than just mere noise. It was a sharp, unrelenting nail that hammered into her skull, crushing her mind into an insignificant puddle that pulsed with blinding pain.

It sounded like _death_.

The wind fled from her lungs, driving her to her knees. Before her, Ysdrea butchered the crew, painting herself and her surroundings with gore. Each movement was perfect - each one flowed into the next, a dance of death that put even Weiss' grace to shame.

It was terrifying. No matter how long Yang lived, how many juvenat treatments she got, however much she trained... she would never be able to move like that.

Unnerved and winded, Yang struggled to her feet. Amat helped her up. Though he was he faring better than Yang, it was clear the Banshees' wail unsettled him as well.

"You okay?" He shouted over the noise.

"Yeah, I'll live," Yang replied. She shot him a strained grin. "Now let's not fall behind, huh?"

She launched herself into the fray.

The hold they'd entered in was some kind of storage dump or scrap yard. Twisted metal struts and piles of stripped shipping containers littered the floor, crawling with emaciated and hollow-eyed cultists.

Weighed down by shackles and possessing little in the way of actual weaponry, they were a pitiful sight.

Yang did her part, carving up the heretics that stood and fought. However, as she chopped and slashed, hacked and rendered, she noticed something that sat ill with her.

They were all grateful. As they fell apart under the merciless blue arc of her power sword, their eyes grew bright.

Content.

The sensation did not last, as it took a mere minute to secure the breach head. No casualties among the war party. Time to go to work.

"Let's go find the engine room," Yang said.

"We must hurry from this place," Lossamdir concurred. "If we face a concentrated defense, we will be overwhelmed."

They hurried on, bashing through one of the interior doors. The hallways vaguely resembled those of the _Ascendant Dawn_, though they were far more twisted and hateful. Symbols lined the walls, dull and lifeless yet thrumming with terrible power. Cords and spiked wires hung from every angle, lit in a dim, dark red.

If not for her Huntress training, Yang was sure she'd be left to blindly fumble along, cutting herself on every corner of this horrible ship.

"Head right," Garnet said. So they did, boots ringing off the metal floor.

The bulkhead at the end of the hall did not yield, so Yang was forced to cut a hole through it. Though the Banshees had power swords as well, she had a sneaking suspicion the eldar women thought it beneath them.

"Contacts!" Amat cried, unleashing a barrage of lasbolts. Behind the war party, a squad of heavily armed heretics spilled into the hallway. Clad in yellow-blue flak armor and covered in tattoos, they must've been the Sons' chapter serfs.

The first one around the corner vaporized, melted away by the war-party's volume of fire.

"How we doing?" Amat asked, roaring over the hurricane of shurikens that whizzed through the hall.

"Almost there!" Yang replied, bringing her sword down to the floor.

Another heretic tried to peek around the corner, but he was shredded to pieces, sliced into hundreds by the Avenger's sustained fire.

Grabbing the molten ends of the bulkhead, Yang tore it free and set it aside.

"Move!" She bellowed, waving at her comrades. They obeyed, taking turns to keep up the wall of fire behind them. Maion was the first through, firing her shuriken pistol behind her. Like a machine, each group fired, ducked through, then took up a position on the other side.

Once Amat was through, Yang followed. Just in time to watch the assassin send a lasbolt through a heretic's eye, painting his comrades with flash-boiled brains and steaming blood.

"Keep moving," Lossamdir ordered. "Shut it behind us!" He shouted at Yang.

Nodding, she took a deep breath. She let it loose as a gout of warp flame, a pillar of eldritch fire that filled the hall behind them and melted the edges of where the door once stood. Screaming filled the frigate, wails torn from the throats of another dozen victims.

The whispers sought a foothold, but she shut them down with a strained grunt. Blocking away the voices, she grabbed the bulkhead and shoved it back in place, fusing the molten edges together.

_Lies_, Yang reminded herself, recalling her sessions with Garnet. _The voices always lie. They are not you. They offer nothing but ash._

"Let's move," Amat said, patting her shoulder. Yang nodded, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.

_Ever onwards_.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," Yang replied. "Trying to get used to it. Psyker stuff, that is."

"Let me know if you struggle," Amat said.

"I will."

They caught up with the eldar, who had delved even further into the ship. _So Throne-damned fast!_ Even the normal eldar matched the speed of a Huntsman. As they progressed, the hallways widened, allowing five to pass abreast.

A lasbolt seared over Yang's head. She dove for cover on instinct, avoiding the next hail of Avengers and Banshees scrambled for cover on the opposite side, ducking under the heretics' wall of fire. In a moment, the war-party had been cut in half.

Two platoon-strength teams had closed in on them, pincering them in a four-way junction. On the hallway to their left and right, the Sons' slaves had constructed crude barriers, walls of crates, detritus, and dead bodies that kept them safe from returning fire. At the head of the hallway where Lossamdir and Garnet took cover, the door had been welded shut.

A trap.

"We're in the shit now, boys and girls!" Yang cried. A lasbolt smacked off the corner of the hallway, spraying her with molten bits of metal. "Fuck!"

Amat grunted, slapping a new battery into the lasgun. He burnt through them pretty quick. Across the junction, the Dire Avengers unleashed a hail shuriken, but without eyes on target and the chaotic roar of suppressing fire, they didn't stand a chance of connecting.

"They've got us pinned," Amat said as a lasbolt scorched the air by his head. "They're stalling us."

He was right. Each second spent here was a second wasted, a second the heretics could use to ferry more reinforcements to their position. Yang had no doubt the war-party was one of the deadliest collections of warriors in the entire galaxy, but there were only fifteen of them. In time, they would be overcome and torn to shreds.

A flash of green armor caught Yang's eye - Maion had stepped out from behind her comrades. The eldar woman made a brief cutting motion and pointed to the hallway on Yang's left.

_Got it. _Yang tugged on the wing of a nearby Hawk. _Ass-lar or something._

"We need to break out!" She hollered over the din. "I'm engaging!" she said. "Cover Maion!"

She thrust her fingers into the wall. Aura poured into her arms, filling her with monstrous strength. Her hair ignited as she ripped the paneling free, a sheet of metal about two inches thick. Wasting no time, she dove into the center of the junction, bracing her impromptu shield against her shoulder.

"AMAT!" She roared.

"Covering you," he replied, displacing a Hawk at the corner of the junction.

Maion had already begun her bloody work, using her semblance to appear behind the heretics on the right. The way she moved was fluid and graceful sure, but nothing like the Banshees. It was almost… primal the way she killed, her chainsword spitting gore across the hallway in thick, bloody brushstrokes. She was certainly Pyrrha's descendant, but her human blood had been tempered by something fierce and terrible.

Yang pressed on, returning her focus to the enemies in front of her.

Amat's lasbolts seared past her head, each one spearing a heretic in the face. Every time one fell, another took his place - there had to be at least thirty clogging the port-side hallway.

The serfs set up a wall of crushing fire, yet their salvos only succeeded in heating up Yang's crude shield. It glowed red from the shots it absorbed, but that would never bother her. Each step took her closer to the barricade - her advance would not be checked. Once she was within a dozen yards of the heretic barricade, Yang burst forward.

Finally.

Yang tore through the hall, hurling the wall-panel ahead of her. It bifurcated a machinegun crew, splitting them in two with its superheated edge.

Ember Celica rocketed her towards the rest of the serfs that clogged the hallway. Thinking themselves secure behind their cover, the heretics were not expecting the whirlwind of fire and ebony armor that crashed into them.

She threw her shoulder into a crate, sending it - and the heretics behind it - hurtling down the hall, their bones snapping each time they met a surface. Lasbolts hounded her, but her carapace armor and aura shrugged them off. Before the serfs could regroup or concentrate their fire, Yang was among them.

Her foot met a heretic's chest, crushing it into paste. Grabbing another's head, she vaulted over him, twisting his neck once she reached her apex. With a roar, she slammed the lifeless body into the others, bowling them aside.

Ember Celica belched death, littering the halls with spent shells. In the confines of the frigate, Yang's gauntlets were murderously effective. Pellets rattled against the hull, a storm of screaming bbs that chewed the heretics apart.

They screamed. Against her aura-enhanced strikes, no armor or ruinous blessing could save them. Lasbolts and pointed blades could not scratch her armor, nor the light of her soul.

One charged her from behind, one of his arms hanging on by a handful of sinews. Yang ducked under his clumsy strike and stuck her power sword in his chest. When she tore it free, he came apart at the seams, slumping to the floor as a mess of gore and cooking intestines.

Even though their numbers dwindled, even though they were forced to march through a mire of their broken, lifeless comrades, the serfs still came. They welcomed death, and Yang was happy to oblige them.

This time, she focused on remaining calm and keeping her head level. This is what she excelled at, but she couldn't let it consume her. At the center of the carnage, she ignored the screams, the crunch of broken bones and the crimson ichor that stained her boots.

It was difficult.

She chafed at the restraint required of her. It ached to confine herself, keep to practiced strikes and rhythmic killing. Yang frowned as Ember Celica melted another foe, sending the remaining half of his torso to fall upon the others.

_It doesn't matter if it's tough. Nothing is worse than letting go._

Remembering that helped.

Once she'd broken most of the detachment, Amat and the rest of the war-party were freed from the constant hail of suppressive fire and brought their weapons to bear. With their help, the rest of the serfs died in seconds.

Her work completed, Yang spun on her heel to assist Maion with the rest of the heretic troopers. But there weren't any left. There was only Maion, standing alone, her chest rising and falling.

It was a massacre.

The junction was choked with gore, strewn with piles of heretic dead and wounded. The putrid air was filled with screams, accompanied by the scent of blood, shit and ozone. A bad smell, but a familiar one.

After ensuring none of their party was wounded, Lossamdir waved them on. The exarch did not allow them a moment of pause or reflection. Deeper and deeper they plunged into the ship. Even though they made a blistering pace through its halls, Yang couldn't help noticing how much she hated it.

Every corridor and hallway ran together, an endless blur of red-lit runes that pressed into her mind and demanded her attention. Whispers filled the halls too, but for once, Yang knew they weren't meant for her. They just... echoed through the ship, ceaselessly droning. It was little wonder the hold-slaves looked like zombies.

No mystery why they welcomed their deaths.

_This is what chaos does to you_, Yang thought, pushing the noises out of her mind. _The promises are lies. All lies_.

Amat didn't seem affected by the ship, or if he was, he didn't show it. In either case, he had the Vindicares to thank.

_I wonder what goes on in that head of his. What does he think about? _She was on the verge of asking when Lossamdir threw his fist up, calling a halt to their march through the frigate.

Then, it rumbled, the ship itself shaking under their boots. A roar seemed to echo up from the depths of the ship, spilling out of the vents and filling her head with hate _hate __**hate**_-

"Urgh," Yang said, rubbing her glowing shoulder. "What was that?"

"Weapons firing," Garnet said, expression unreadable behind his warlock's mask. "They've found us."

"Found us?" Yang asked, eyes scanning the hallways for threats. They were empty but for the war-party. Lossamdir's fearsome raptor-mask lifted at her words. His comrades shuddered, eyes meeting the metal floor.

"I've received a message from Captain Ellamár. The… the _Void-Whisper_," Lossamdir said, a note of fear shattering his war-mask. "She has been discovered. And _struck_."

* * *

**A/N: Holy God-Emperor! Today marks the two-year anniversary of A World of Bloody Evolution's debut!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who's been with me so far, I appreciate your support tremendously. Without you guys, this story wouldn't exist. It seems like a lifetime ago that I sat down to write the first few chapters, and now the story sits at 250,000+ words. Wow. **

**Every time I think about it, it's absolutely ludicrous that my story is one of the top reviewed Warhammer crossovers, up there with Shinji and Warhammer 40k and The Mission Stays the Same.**

**You guys are the best.**

**Also, I think I'm finally comfortable giving an estimate in how much more story's left to tell. As the story currently stands, it looks like A World of Bloody Evolution will have between 110-115 chapters, but that can easily fluctuate.**

**I look forward to telling the rest of the story, and I hope I you guys continue to enjoy it.**

**See you next time!**

**(P.S., for those of you who are new to 40k, I should probably mention that most eldar weapons fire monomolecular-edged disks called shuriken. Nasty things, but damn effective. Don't think I've mentioned them before, but I figured a heads up was in order.)**


	63. Ashes and Echoes

**A/N: Happy holidays, everyone**!

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 62: Ash and Echoes**

_"Victory is the only thing that matters." - Imperial Proverb_

"Well what the fuck do we do now?" Yang demanded. This was bad. If the Void-Whisper was in trouble, they could end up stranded in the Webway. Or worse, stranded on this hellish ship.

"The plan is unchanged," Maion said. "If anything, our mission time has been shortened. We must move quickly."

"But as it is, the_ Void-Whisper_ can't even hold against one ship," Garnet protested calmly. "Just destroying this one will not guarantee a victory. We must adjust our course of action. Any ideas, brother?"

Lossamdir said nothing, the cruel visage of his raptor helm staring down the long, twisting hall.

"We shall seize the bridge," he said. "And smash Ahriman's ships together."

"Ha ha!" Yang said, smashing a fist into her palm. "Now that's a plan!"_ Where was this can-do attitude on Gartenwald?_

"It's not without its risks," Lossamdir said, quick to dismiss her enthusiasm. "The bridge will be heavily guarded, and staffed by the Sons' best troops. It is likely a sorcerer attends the bridge." His words seemed to send a thrum of satisfaction coursing through the ship, a ripple of power that set a chill running up Yang's reinforced spine.

"This is an evil place," she said. Even with their war-masks on, a few of the eldar nodded in agreement.

"We must tread carefully then," Maion said. "And Khaine shall guide us through."

And it was decided, just like that. A few glances were exchanged, physical shreds of evidence that a conversation occurred beyond Yang's notice. Amat rolled his shoulders, annoyance evident in every twitch. They shared a look.

"Let us go," Lossamdir said. "We must make haste."

The war-party turned on its heel and stormed past the carnage they'd wrought, headed for the other end of the ship.

"Is there something you'd like to share with us?" Amat asked, his lasgun sweeping over the broken bodies Yang had left behind.

Yang snorted in agreement. "If you're really expecting us to find some nasty shit up ahead, you should at least cue us in."

"I shall consider it," Lossamdir said dismissively. They followed him anyway, back the way they came.

Turning a corner, they found a line of servitor-slaves working on a wall, sparks spitting from ratty welding torches. The war-party cut them down, not sparing them a second thought. The workers did not complain. They barely even noticed.

But once they reached the end, Lossamdir collided into a squad of armed serfs. At first, there were shouts of confusion, before realizations dawned and weapons were drawn. But the heretics never had a chance.

Maion and Lossamdir were among them, whirring like blender-blades as they tore through their foes. Viscera painted them, painted the hallways. The Banshees joined them, thankfully neglecting to perform their horrid screaming.

Yang stormed forward, sword and Ember Celica braced, but was shit out of luck. By the time she'd made six steps forward, the entire fifteen-man squad had been mulched. She huffed, cracking her neck. Fighting in the enclosed space of a starship wasn't her favorite thing. No room to maneuver, no room to dash forward and wreck havoc. Too cramped by half.

Lossamdir did not acknowledge the skirmish, nor issue another order. They simply moved on, boots tracking gore throughout the ship. Once more, the floor shook under the weight of a unleashed barrage.

Time was running out. They could all feel it, and even Amat endeavored to pick up the pace.

"This isn't good," Yang said, keeping her comms confined to the microbead in her helmet.

"We'll make do," Amat replied. "Have faith the Emperor will see us through."

_'Cause that solves everything_, Yang mused.

The lights cut out, replaced by blood-red emergency bulbs. A scratched and harsh voice echoed throughout the hallways, in some incomprehensible language.

"They know where we're headed," Amat growled, making sure the whole war-party could hear him.

"You speak that foul tongue?" A Banshee asked.

"Context clues," Amat replied, before a bullet snapped past the war-party. "Contact!" He bellowed. "Up ahead, fifty meters!"

Behind a closing bulkhead stood two squads of chapter serfs, taking cover behind the armored door and mewling servitor-slaves. One of the heretics was cranking a door, shutting the bulkhead behind him.

His head exploded, burst apart by Amat's lasgun.

"Nice shot!" Yang bellowed, storming forward. No way a bunch of aliens were gonna upstage her. As the heretic sergeants shouted orders and tried to seal the door, Yang and Maion were among them.

Maion emerged from the shadows, her sword whirring silently as it carved a serf in half. Yang, however, was louder. Ember Celica roared, rocketing her forward into her first target. The other gauntlet connected with his chest, throwing him into a corridor wall twenty meters ahead. He splattered.

Two bullets whinged off her aura, scraping its surface. Barely enough to feed her semblance. Yang grinned and began her work. A heretic charged her with a sword and was introduced to her boot. She kicked him into Maion's path of destruction, where he was soon minced into eighths.

A heretic sergeant with long yellow fangs made to skewer Yang with a wicked bayonet. He never got the chance, as a shuriken tore his jaw away and a lasbolt exploded most of his torso. His momentum carried him into Yang, who knocked the corpse aside and unleashed a brace of shotgun shells.

In the cramped hallway, they were murderously effective. They shredded through the heretics, chewing them apart into a red mess of guts and mangled limbs. As the rest of the war-party streamed through the bulkhead, the cultists retreated further into the ship.

To their credit, they understood basic infantry tactics - instead of fleeing outright, they took it in turns to lay down a barrage of fire before continuing their withdrawal. What tactics failed to account for, was the juggernaut Yang Xiao Long.

The roar of their autoguns was deafening in the enclosed space, but every round met her aura and flattened, whickering away into the walls. Yang could feel her aura drinking in every bullet, but none were enough to stop her.

They slowed her though, a wall of lead that stopped her from advancing. If she moved too quickly, the rounds would chew the war-party to pieces. So instead she played the part of a walking shield.

The volume of fire was incredible. Shurikens whizzed past her head, rattling against the walls and filling her vision with sparks. When they met a heretic, they simply melted, their corpses unable to stay standing as the monomolecular-edged discs tore through them.

Only two escaped, abandoning their comrades to flee towards the bridge.

"You okay, Yang?" Amat asked as they gave chase.

"All good," Yang said. "Aura's a hell of a lot… bigger than it used to be," she muttered to no one but herself. She could feel her veins thrum with the extra energy her semblance afforded her. Not much, but enough to get her blood up, pump it against her temples.

_Easy, Yang. Breathe._

As they chased the heretics through the winding halls, Yang felt the constant droning intensify. It wasn't any louder… but it seemed to ache now, pulse with nefarious power.

"We're getting close," she said.

"We know," Lossamdir said. Even with their war-masks on, the eldar seemed restless now, the angles of their armor harsher and more unforgiving. Hate and discontent radiated from every red stone that burned on their chests. The war-party caught up to the runners in a few seconds, butchering them as they did their comrades.

After five minutes of running, they reached an enormous bulkhead, one almost as big as a movie screen.

"Is this the bridge?" Yang asked. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in filtered oxygen. They'd been fighting and running for almost an hour. She could see Amat's chest rising and falling, though he gave no other indication of exhaustion.

"No," Lossamdir said. "This is merely the neck of the ship, the antechamber to the bridge. Expect heavy resistance."

Nodding, Amat slapped a fresh battery into his lasgun. The eldar mimicked him, tucking fresh shuriken mags into their elegant guns. Yang tucked replacement shells into Ember Celica, slipping them from her bandolier into her weapon's receivers.

"Open it up," Lossamdir said.

Yang grunted and activated her power sword. With a cry, she stuck it into the bulkhead. As she carved, the eldar stacked up behind her. She could feel their energy, their bloodlust. Compared to their usual detached and aloof demeanor, it was almost off-putting.

After she finished her cutting, she peeled the bulkhead back with her bare hands, wide enough for two to pass abreast. As the lead Banshee stormed forward, however, Yang's aura screamed in panic.

Wasting no time, Yang grabbed the woman's arm and threw her aside, just in time to avoid the storm of rounds that poured through the gap. Shrapnel flew as the ordinance slammed into the wall behind them.

Bolter rounds.

Throne-damned bolter rounds.  
The banshee got to her feet, cool and collected despite her near-death experience. More bullets and tracer-fire ripped through the breach, denying the war-party entrance.

"What now?" Yang roared over the storm of gunfire.

"You'll have to let me in," Lossamdir said, his voice betraying a hint of ruefulness.

"What?" Amat demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"We communicate via telepathy during combat," Lossamdir explained over the crash of a bolter round. "It is the best way to coordinate an assault and maintain order in the din of battle."

"You mean like right now?" Yang snarked, to the amusement of no one.

"If we're to get past this, you'll have to trust us," Garnet interrupted. "Both of you. Let my brother in."

Yang swallowed. "The second I sense something fishy, you're fucking done," she growled. Amat, however, said nothing. "Amat?"

"I don't like this," he replied.

"Of course not. I don't either. Just this once, okay?" Yang asked through their personal comms. "If you don't trust them, trust me. If they get up to something, I'll crush their brains with my mind."

He sighed, a small grin evident on his breath. "I trust you… but it's best if I exclude myself. Imperial secrets and all."

Yang frowned. A fair point. She wasn't exactly jazzed about it herself.

"Just me for now," Yang ordered. "Do it."

Lossamdir patched Yang into the eldar telepathic circuit. At first, she beat the sudden wall of information into a thin paste, an instinctive and natural reaction to the invasive xenos chatter. Once she recognized the source, she relented, linking her mind with the rest of the war party.

Among all its members, her mind alone stood out, waves of emotion and personality on an otherwise tepid sea. Not to say it was devoid of activity - a deluge of information flowed around them, cueing them into every member's potential actions and plans, paths of action that made themselves known before she even thought to think of them.

Yang grimaced, as did the rest of the war-party.

_isha protect us_

_so bright_

Shaking her head and baring her teeth, Yang slapped at her chest. It was time to move. She knew the plan, the moment it left Lossamdir's mind, she knew her part in it, the way they would survive.

Garnet provided eventualities, pouring predictions into their heads, likely methods of approach, enemy weapons, patterns of movement, scattering pathways, angles of suppressive fire, kill-zones to avoid.

The command came at once, simple and clear.

_Go_.

And as one, they acted.

First through the breach was Garnet, projecting a wall of pure blue energy. Rounds smacked into it, halted in their tracks. Yang and the Banshees were next, taking cover behind Garnet as he pushed onwards.

The bridge's antechamber was far roomier than any other section of the ship - and far more crowded to boot. It was at least a hundred meters long and twenty meters tall, crammed with heretic squads and dark iconography.

Harsh, jagged script covered the walls, humming with ill intent. Spiked chains draped from the walls and ceilings, brown with old, flaky blood. Imagery painted both the walls and the inhabitants, distorted hieroglyphs that spoke of some ancient grudge and a terrible curse. Yang didn't know how she knew these things.

What she did know was that the room was utterly packed with serfs, all of them armed to the teeth. They'd even managed to set up crude emplacements along the stairs that led to the bridge, and many of them took cover behind half-walls of writhing slaves.

All of this was considered in a moment, communicated in a heartbeat.

Under Garnet's shield, they advanced. The antechamber wasn't wide enough to flank - they'd have to bludgeon and carve their way up the stairs. Something Yang was extraordinarily good at.

The next order came.

_Now_.

Yang burst out from cover, rocketing towards the first bolter emplacement. It was a dozen meters away, a distance Yang traversed in a half-second. Caught unprepared, its crew stopped firing. Their first mistake.

Ember Celica met the gunner's chest, sending him and his composite pieces rocketing off to Emperor knew where. Yang's boot spun about and connected with the loader's face, snapping his neck. Her power sword fell next, cutting through the bolter and its final crewman like butter.

The Banshees began their wailing as they descended on the other emplacement. Yang did not cringe and recoil as she did before. It was… different now. She heard the notes, the grief of lost souls as it poured from their lips.

Yang continued her assault, stomping up the stairs to meet her next foe. He was a huge, towering man, a brute with a too-wide smile and scaly mutations. A chainsword roared in his taloned hand.

A lasbolt took him square in the jaw, and Yang finished the job by plunging her sword into his heart. Snarling in disgust, she retrieved her sword and knocked the body aside.

In doing so, she revealed a horde of heretics charging towards her, bayonets braced and hatred spewing from their pierced lips. Lossamdir corrected the flow of battle, adjusting for the unseen development. Something Yang was all too happy to accommodate.

Bellowing, she launched herself into the fray, splintering the first man into a broken puddle. She poured herself into the battle, hacking each serf apart with a uncaring swing of her sword. Yang ducked under a hopeful bayonet-stab, and brought Ember Celica up to meet her enemy's chin. His headless corpse spun away, bouncing off his comrades' armor.

"Come on!" Yang roared, drawing as much attention as she could. She didn't know if the heretics could understand her, and she didn't care if they did.

One dove at her, his chainsword whirring. She caught it in her hand and squeezed, before putting her boot through its wielder's chest. A sword jammed its way into her back, bouncing off her aura and armor without a scratch.

Amid the chaos and noise, Yang reigned triumphant. From a dozen pair of eyes, she could see the entire flow of battle. The Banshees as they tore through groups of enemies, the Avengers as they crowded heretics into her grasp with harrowing fields of fire. The Hawks as they soared above the battlefield, raining fire down upon the furthermost ranks.

All served to funnel enemies into Yang's path, for none could stand against her. Lossamdir knew this. Yang could feel a tinge of dread respect color his soul as he directed the war-party.

This, Yang realized, was the source of eldar prowess. Not their better-built bodies, not their psychic might, but the simple ability to share information and plan accordingly, all in the blink of an eye. She was in awe.

Maion sent a warning - danger, danger was near.

Yang looked up to see a pair of traitor marines descending the stairs. She had no idea where they came from, or how they avoided being seen until now. But they radically shifted Lossamdir's plans.

Clad in yellow-blue ceramite and sporting flared helms, they radiated an uncommon and unnerving energy. They crushed their dying servants under their heels, advancing over a pile of bodies like they weren't even there.

They brought their bolters to bear and opened fire. Panic reigned for but a moment as Lossamdir ordered the war-party to take cover. Swooping Hawks fell to earth, evasive maneuvers keeping them free from bolter shells.

The antechamber exploded as shrapnel and debris painted the stairs. Garnet cried out, strengthening his shield as it suffered a renewed assault. Maion was nowhere to be seen. Yang grabbed a pair of heretics, using them as a shield as she dove behind a block of stone.

Two traitor marines could pose a huge problem in the enclosed space. Briefly, her heart surged with worry for Amat, drowning out the din of battle. She wished he'd bitten down his pride and accepted Lossamdir's offer, but it was too late for that - she chanced a look at the war-party instead.

Thankfully, Amat was safe behind Garnet's shield, picking off every heretic that tried to take advantage of the chaos. It was enough for Yang.

Throwing the two heretics into the wall, she charged up the stairs. She could handle traitor marines. A bolter round licked off her aura, pouring gas onto the raging fire of her semblance. Her feet thundered against the dull metal, rocketing her towards her foes.

Maion would get the attention of the one on the left. The right one was all Yang's.

Her sword plunged into his heart before he could react, piercing the ancient plates like they were paper. Yang spun to wrench it free and finish the job, but it was stuck fast.

The traitor still lived.

His hand enveloped her arm and squeezed. Yang cried out, trying to remove herself from the monster's grip. No luck. He slammed her against the ground, driving the wind from her lungs. His other fist raised to smash her head in, braced to end her life.

She knocked it away, but could not stop its second attack. It connected with her face, dazing her and filling her sight with blinding light. The fist fell again and again, her panicked flailing not enough to stop the barrage of blows. Desperately she reached for the warp, but she couldn't properly focus, her mind was leaving her, beaten back into numbness by the repeated blows.

Shuriken tore into the traitor marine, embedding themselves into his face and chest. Still, his assault didn't stop.

_Why doesn't he stop?_ Yang thought groggily, as she suffered another blow. _Doesn't he feel pain?_

The next blow shattered her aura, and her face exploded with blinding pain as her helmet crumpled around her.

Yang was naked.

Unprotected.

She screamed before an explosion filled her sight. Her arms went up to shield herself from the shrapnel. The fire washed over her as it always did, but the bits of metal ricocheted off her carapace armor,which also kept her insides from liquefying.

A cloud of dust followed, filling her mouth and throat. Yang coughed and retched, choking on the blood and foul-tasting ash. She crawled away from the glowing yellow-blue scrap heap. Everything hurt. Her feet slipped, and she saw double of everything. Her gauntlets drank in the blood of the slaughtered, staining her palms with red.

Her face ached, and the taste of iron filled her mouth. She spat, leaking drool and blood through a massive split in her lip. Nausea assaulted her, the sure sign of a concussion.

"Wha da fug," she muttered, unable to form words. Her nose was smashed in, and she could feel the shards of bone stabbing into her flesh. "Wha da_ fug_."

That was no traitor marine. That was a fucking monster.

A heretic charged her through the smoke and dust. Blood leaked from his every pore, but he came regardless, a chainsword raised above his head. She loosed a broken snarl in defiance. Yang had no aura, but she was not defenseless.

Her leg lashed out, snapping his knee backwards. He screamed and crumpled, smashing his face against the stairs.

Grunting, Yang dragged herself over to him. The heretic thrashed and screamed, but Yang could still ply him. Despite her injuries, despite the pain that filled every pore of her being, despite the whispers that filled her head with sweet lies and unspeakable temptations, she would not be bested.

She pinned his legs down with her knees and set to her brutal work. Ember Celica fell, cracking against the serf's temple. Again. Again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Yang roared, spitting blood down her front and washing her visor in crimson grime.

There wasn't much left of his head, but Yang didn't stop. Wouldn't.

_Left. Right. LEFT. RIGHT. LEF-_

"Yang?"

Yang stopped, her fist poised to land another blow. Amat. Amat had said those words.

"Emperor protect me," he muttered. A scarlet visor broke through the grey haze, and Amat materialized, synskin melting into existence from its cloak of smoke and dust. "Yang, are you okay?"

"Guh," was all she could manage.

Amat stepped forward, hand on his pistol. "What happened?"

"Tray-or," she gurgled, leaking blood and drool onto her armor. "Wundt die."

"Fuck," Amat said. The first time she'd heard him curse. It was almost enough to bring a smile to her face. Almost. Instead she felt vomit surge up her throat. She rolled off the dead heretic before she let it loose.

"Don' lie," she tried. "'Ow bad izzit?"

"You look like you've been run over by a Leman Russ," he said.

"Feels li' it," Yang said. She wiped the tears of pain from her eyes, and tried to stand. She couldn't. Her head swam and nausea overtook her before she could make it to her feet.

"Here," Amat said, offering her his hand.

"'Anks," Yang replied, taking it. He hauled her to her feet, taking her weight on his shoulder. "Eld'r?" She asked. After the explosion, she'd lost contact with Lossamdir.

"They're fine. One of them lost a leg, but he'll live."

The first one to emerge from the haze was a Dark Reaper, his armor drinking in the fetid red light. His launcher rested against his shoulder, trailing a wisp of smoke from its muzzle. He nodded at Yang before continuing his ascent.

"'Anks for th' save," she managed. He simply nodded once more.

"Let's get moving," Amat said, helping her up the stairs. Each and every serf lay dead at their feet, piles of dead bodies that impeded their way. Yang slipped twice, her footing unsure amidst the growing pools of blood and broken limbs.

Without her aura, the walls seemed closer, pushing up against her with hateful intent. She felt like a fly under a microscope, her wings speared to a slide of cork. Powerless. Yang held Amat tighter, fearful he would see her shake and shudder.

_I fucked up_. She realized._ Massively. I got cocky. Thought I could take the whole damn ship myself, and I got fucking wrecked._

They found Maion sitting atop a pile of yellow-blue armor, her chest heaving and crystallized blood splattering her side. Her dark green armor had been breached, revealing a long gash.

"Are you well?" Amat asked.

"Merely a graze that slipped under my aura," Maion replied, pressing her hand against the wound. "Those bound to Ahriman are dauntless."

Yang coughed, filling her hand with dust. It hurt. "No kibbing. Fugger wundt die."

"These traitor marines are little more than empty souls that animate their armor." Maion grunted as a lance of pain filled her. "They feel no pain, and are unrelenting. Their bodies have long since turned to dust and ash."

"Thad exggsplaings id," Yang spat._ Of course it'd be something fucky_. Didn't excuse her though. Not by a long shot. _Stupid, Yang. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"You're wounded," Garnet said, passing them.

"I'll lib," Yang said, wiping the blood from her lips. "Fug."

She limped onwards, aided by Amat. The bridge awaited, sealed away behind a colossal steel bulkhead. As the war-party gathered around it, they waited for Lossamdir to instruct them. He came eventually, carrying a legless Hawk in his arms. Yang knew enough about weaponry to know what had done it - a bolt shell had struck his leg, and vaporized nearly everything above the knee.

He was slumped over and unconscious, painting his exarch in blood.

Lossamdir set him down before the war-party. One of the Banshees removed her mask and stooped over him. Like all that wore the war-mask, her face was an expressionless void. Her hands clasped the ruined stump of her comrade's leg, and a song emerged from her lips. Low and melodious, Yang could feel it resonate in her soul, a hum of something older than she could possibly imagine. It did not alieve her own suffering, but it did seal the Hawk's gaping wound, the flesh knitting itself together to staunch the flow of blood.

"We press on," Lossamdir said. Yang hung back, unable and unwilling to take the lead.

For once.

Instead, a Banshee cut into the bulkhead, her sword flaring as it struggled through steel and ancient wards.

Amat set Yang down out of the line of fire.

"Will you be okay?" He asked. Yang didn't reply, instead sinking into the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes were swelling up, and she could barely see. She was not okay.

"I fugged ub," she murmered into his shoulder. "I fugged ub," she repeated.

Amat rested her head against the bulkhead. "You did fine. I didn't do a good job of covering you, is all," he lied. It wasn't his responsibility to keep her safe.

"Maybe th' el'ar aren't all ba'" Yang murmured, trying to smile. It hurt too much.

"Maybe," Amat replied. He left her, readying himself for the bridge assault.

Yang watched him go through swelling eyes, pain clouding her vision. Reaching for her helmet, she pried it loose, letting her hair fall free.

Looking at the shattered visor, she found her reflection.

Her face was completely shattered. Her eyes were swelling shut, her nose was twisted up and spewing blood. Three teeth were missing from her grimace, all of them on the top row. She must have swallowed them. There was nothing but a purple-black lump where there were once features.

_I fucked up_, a part of her said._ Yeah, but I'm still alive_, said another._ How many times is that now?_

She didn't want to think about it.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaand we're back with a touch of the good old fashioned ultra-violence! Sorry for the wait everyone! Been a bit crazy on the life front. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Poor Yang didn't know about Rubric Marines. :(**

**Also, some of you may be wondering why there's only a couple, but there's a few reasons why this is so, foremost among them being 'Ahriman is bringing most of his forces to bear as he reaches the final stages in his search for the Black Library'. I personally thought it was a realistic number.**

**Until next time**

**P.S.: I apologize for any errors that may exist on this chapter - I've had to prepare it entirely on my mobile.**


	64. Ever Onwards

**A/N: Happy New Year's!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 63: Ever Onwards**

"_The Emperor works in mysterious ways. This time, I think He inhaled the Guard's entire lho supply." - Lieutenant Chera Marius, on her Mission to the Black Library._

Relief. Concern.

These were the words that draped themselves on Amat as he readied himself for the breach. Yang was hurt, yes, but she was alive. No doubt her aura would have her back in fighting shape shortly. However, she seemed deflated and spent. Broken.

_Either way, it's best if she sits out the next engagement_.

The Banshee finished her work and withdrew her sword. She nodded at Lossamdir. The exarch stormed forward and smashed his boot through the wound in the bulkhead. The war party filed in, bracing themselves for contact.

No threat presented itself. The bridge was as blasphemous as the rest of the ship, dripping with terrible runes and arcane energies. Amat could feel the wrongness of it all prickle his skin.

But that was all the heresies managed. Instructor Palla and the Vindicare had forged his soul into something far more resilient.

As the war-party fanned out, they searched for the Captain, or some sort of steering device. There were only wretched slaves, pale broken things linked to their terminals. Some of them had even fused with their station, metallic corruption eating away at their bodies.

They did not react to the intruders. Amat followed the trail of wires that led from each slave, his eyes following the pulses of terrible light that thrummed through the heretic technology. His gaze came to rest upon a single ancient slave, his body lashed to an altar of some sort. What little skin remained to him was painted over in runic tattoos… as were the muscle fibers that had bound themselves to their resting place. His torso was splayed open, most of his innards replaced with wiring and malicious charms.

"There," he said, directing the exarch's attention.

Amat was not cursed with witchery, but he could still feel the disgust that radiated from the ancient eldar warrior as he approached the living dias. It was a palpable truth, one evident in his very bearing. Amat's stomach churned at the fact that his own senses aligned so similarly to a xenos.

His hand ghosted across his stomach, attempting to quiet the unpleasant sensation that filled it. _Would I have felt this a month ago? A year? _It felt like gravity-stress training, like g-forces pulling his body into a pit. He didn't like it.

"Input command," the slave wheezed as Lossamdir approached. He paused briefly.

"Cease all weapons discharge. Hard to starboard," Lossamdir tried. "Ramming speed."

"Obeying," the slave rasped. At once, the Prodigal Son's ship fired its thrusters, swooping into an unforgiving turn.

_It's some sort of… host_, Amat realized. The receptacle for whatever daemons lurked in the hull of the ship, and the center of its desecrated technology. _A living command throne._

At first, he wondered why it obeyed an eldar without question, but then he realized - the Rubric Marines were commanding the ship. Beings just as mindless as the slaves. Leaving them to govern a ship didn't seem expedient… which meant a sorcerer likely helmed the other ship.

The heretic ship lurched and groaned under the stress of the turn. In the bridge's viewport, he could see the other ship swiftly approaching. It was time to go.

Once more, a Banshee began cutting at the port side of the viewport. _Our escape route_.

"I suggest you collect Yang," Lossamdir said to Amat, storming past the assassin. The exarch didn't know he was headed there anyway.

"No trubble?" Yang asked, her smashed nose preventing proper speech.

"None," Amat replied. "A collision course has been set with the other ship. We need to leave."

"Sounds goo'" Yang said. Her head hung low for a second. "Gan you 'elp me ub?" She extended a hand, but it wasn't anywhere near him. Her eyes were so swollen, she could barely see. Amat took it anyway. "Danks," she mumbled.

"You almost had him, you know," Amat said, resting her arm across his shoulders. He could see the defeat that sagged her shoulders, the frustration at an unnecessary defeat. "You couldn't have known what those traitor marines were like."

Yang spat a glob of blood onto the floor.

She didn't want to reply to that just yet. _I suppose that's fair. _Not since Shao-la had she faced such a challenge.

Amat helped her along. The eldar were busy butchering the bridge slaves, hacking apart ship's systems in case the war-party missed eliminating a proper commander. Despite his misgivings about serving with xenos, he couldn't deny they were effective.

"We're leaving," Lossamdir said, once the war-party had finished its work. He pressed his lasblaster against the main terminal's head and squeezed the trigger. Immediately, groaning klaxons and terrible screeches filled the ship.

The main terminal thrashed and convulsed, blood and black ichor spitting from every orifice.

"Wha 'appened," Yang asked.

"We're good. Just sabotaging a few systems," Amat replied. He followed Garnet out of the breach in the view port, once more subjecting himself to the absence of gravity. "We're back in the webway," he told his friend.

"I gan dell," Yang said. For a moment, it looked like her ruined lip twitched upwards. Amat craned his neck, looking for the _Void-Whisper_. Even though it'd been struck, it was still nearly impossible to spot, vanishing in and out of reality. What glimpses he did catch did not bode well. It was venting atmosphere and ugly scorch marks stretched across its hull.

As for Ahriman's frigates, they were fast approaching mutual destruction. _I pray we're far enough away. _If their munitions went up, Amat couldn't guarantee they'd escape the shock wave.

They were a hundred meters away now, but in a field of battle measured in the hundreds of kilometers, it wasn't enough.

The rest of the war-party trailed after them, having fled seconds after Amat. Beating their radiant wings, the Swooping Hawks overtook their human allies. Maion floated by next, more at ease in the absence of gravity than many of her comrades.

Amat never could have imagined the path his life took. Four years ago, he awaited duty on Holy Terra, his days spent in intense prayer and dedication. Now, he floated along the webway with a pack of eldar, holding his friend from another universe.

"You ogay?" Yang asked. Even in her blinded state, she could tell he'd lost himself in introspection. _Is that her witchery? Or does she just… know?_

"Yes," Amat said, surprised by his answer. Despite the ludicrous changes his life had undergone, he was okay. In fact, some days, he found himself thanking the Emperor as often as he beseeched him for direction.

_But why? Are you still Vindicare?_

Sighing, Yang retracted her arm from around his shoulders. She tucked herself in tight under his arm, resting her battered cheek against his chest.

"Goo'," she said. The pain in her voice was palpable, enough to stir something within Amat. When he met Yang some seven months ago, she reached out to him for help, her body bruised and broken. It had been the first time Amat had made physical contact with a human being that didn't actively mean him harm. He had been…

Confused. Hesitant.

Now he pulled her closer, praying to the Emperor her spirits lifted. Seeing her broken and defeated was unsettling and unusual. She never failed to put up a front, a delightful, impish smile. Even if she was pained, she was too strong.

"It'll be okay Yang," Amat said gently. Once more, she didn't respond. But instead of spitting blood, she held him tighter, nestling herself within the crook of his elbow.

It felt… good. Where his stomach had roiled mere minutes before, it filled with warmth, one that spread to the whole of his being. No matter what path his life would take, he would never let Yang suffer alone.

The heretic ships collided. Shrieks of tearing metal filled the Ail-Ithalya Shipyards, and explosions by the dozens blossomed across the frigate's shattered hull.

"Gholy fug," Yang exclaimed, pressing a hand against her ear. "Wha' 'appened?"

The carnage was not done. After impacting against the hull of her sister frigate, the compromised vessel continued onwards, its engines flaring as it struggled to continue its advance. Two seconds later, it broke through, cleaving its twin in half.

Just as Amat had feared, their munitions ignited. "Hold on!" He cried, holding Yang tighter. With an ear-shattering peal, an entire deck of torpedoes exploded, birthing titanic fireballs that vaporized the front of the ship they boarded.

Garnet pivoted himself, spreading his hands wide. A wall of blue energy erupted from his fingers, wide enough to shield the entire war party. The explosion's shock wave slammed against it, followed by a hail of shrapnel and a massive plume of flame.

Licks of fire reached around the shield, but did not scorch them. Cradled within the might of Garnet's soul, the war-party was safe. Even though the fireball had dissipated and they were hundreds of meters away from the impact, Amat could still feel the impact's blistering heat. A followup blast of burnt wind struck them, sucking the air from their lungs. Amat gasped, reeling at the sensation of empty lungs.

Eventually, his breath hitched, and he sucked in gusts of air. Yang recovered too, wheezing against his shoulder.

"Damb!" Yang said, a tiny smile lifting her ruined lips. "'Dat was fugging awesomb." Despite himself, Amat laughed. Given time, Yang would recover. She always did.

Together, they floated through the ruins of a dead empire, grateful for their lives and each other.

* * *

Maion reclined in the _Void-Whisper_'s medbay, recovering from her battle with the fallen mon'keigh. She was not alone - Yang, Ullikar, and a dozen mariners suffered wounds as well, attended by a handful of white-clad healers.

Only fifteen eldar had perished, all mariners. Considering the threat posed to the mission, it was an acceptable loss. But there were some who disagreed, as there always were. They argued that the loss of life was wholly unnecessary, considering the dubious reasoning behind the mission in the first place.

There was also the matter of the _Void-Whisper_ itself. It had sustained heavy damage and was in serious need of repairs. Its weapons were virtually disabled, its hull had been scorched, and a few of the decks were openly exposed. Travel outside the Webway would be perilous, and they would have to request help with repairs from the Harlequins.

Yet Maion could not help but feel a sense of victory despite the damage. Two of Ahriman's ships lied shattered and broken, smashed against the walls of the Webway. Now, they floated among the ruins of the Eldar empire, spilling out burnt bodies.

Even if they had almost lost the _Void-Whisper_, helping the Harlequins in their battle in any regard suited Maion perfectly. _I just pray our ship can complete the journey._

Beside her, Yang slept, snoring away the injuries she'd sustained. Though mostly limited to her face, they were still substantial. Her features were completely concealed, wrapped up in healer's bandages.

As for Maion, her flank still thrummed with pain. A graze from an inferno round was nothing to laugh at - the cursed bolts of the Rubric Marines were absolutely lethal. An inch to the right, and the bolt would have detonated, blowing a meaty hole in her side… if there was anything left of her at all. She had her aura and training to thank. In truth, she missed fighting with other Scorpions. They always fought better together, and even though Lossamdir was an experienced leader, there had been hiccups in communications.

Letting Yang in was one such hiccup. The way she fought was breathtaking, yet also horrific and undisciplined - a pure expression of Khaine's unbound furor. And the sheer power she radiated was nearly blinding.

_At least she was useful_.

The same could be said for her companion, the lithe assassin that followed her like a shadow. Maion could not deny the man was noteworthy. He possessed unerring talent and tenacity that belied his mon'keigh origins -fitting of a Vindicare assassin. But there was the issue of his demeanor - it was far too calm and pious for his species. It was if he wore a war-mask, even though she knew such a thing to be impossible.

Her wound gave another twinge of pain, and she winced in agony. The Prodigal Sons were a dangerous faction, and their presence was an ill omen for their mission. Could there be more of their hated kind awaiting them? How fared the battle between the Harlequins and Ahriman?

But one question dominated the others - how would the _Void-Whisper_ even find the Black Library? If one wished to visit its hallowed halls, one needed a Harlequin guide. Otherwise, one was bound to wander the Webway for eternity, condemned to deathless wandering or insanity.

Frowning, she freed herself from her bed. Another stab of pain. She ignored it, pushing it down to a place it wouldn't cloud her mind. Taking a crutch with her, she hobbled from the medbay into the quiet halls of the _Void-Whisper_.

A ripple of air greeted her outside the door. _Amat_, she realized.

"Assassin," she said.

"Maion," the air-ripple replied.

"Why are you here?" She asked. "I assure you, the healers are treating Yang adequately." As much as they could treat a human.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "But I haven't been waiting here. I've merely been exploring the ship."

"I see," Maion said. "Take care not to pry."

"I won't," he said, his voice the picture of graciousness.

She continued on her way, hairs prickling the small of her neck. No mon'keigh should be that invisible. That right belonged to the Striking Scorpions alone, the Shadow of Khaine.

The meditation chambers were not far, a blessing in her wounded state. Her hand passed in front of the comms-stone, and she waited for a reply. It was several minutes before Garnet deigned to respond.

"Come in," the stone pulsed.

Maion entered the meditation chambers. Once more, Garnet sat amidst a sea of swirling stars, stars that did not belong to their universe. What was different were the runes that circled him, each pure and bright blue.

"Maion," Garnet said, still facing the heartstone, the one that linked the _Void-Whisper_ to Il-Kaithe.

"I must know - how is it that you're guiding us?" She asked. "The mission against the Prodigal Sons was successful, but could have been avoided entirely. Why did you insist on this particular corridor?"

Garnet sighed, and the runes about his head dissipated. "I asked you for your trust, is that not enough?"

"This isn't right," Maion insisted. "I know you spent many years as an outcast, but I know you did not join the Harlequins. Those who do never return. You did."

"You are correct," Garnet said. "I did not join them."

"Then how do you know where the Black Library is?" Maion asked. "Its location is one of the most well-kept secrets in the galaxy."

He still did not face her, but Maion knew a wide smile stretched itself across his face.

"The truth is Maion… I have no idea where we're going."

"_What_?" Maion demanded. "That… that cannot be true!"

"It is," Garnet said. He raised a single finger. "But that does not mean I lack direction."

Maion huffed. "At times, I am sorely tempted to sympathize with the mon'keigh in matters regarding our species."

"You are a warrior," Garnet said simply.

"True," Maion admitted. "And I've never been proficient in warp-craft. I admit that. But Uncle… surely you can just… tell me?"

"I cannot explain it exactly," Garnet said. "Just that we are being led towards the Black Library. A song fills my head, a… comforting one." He folded his hands, took a deep breath. "I know it in my soul that we are headed the right way."

Maion frowned. "A song, Uncle? Surely you are not leading us to the heart of the webway on the merits of a _song?_"

"I am," Garnet said. He turned to face her, and the solemnity of his features brokered no argument - he truly believed his words. "I would never lead my family astray."

"And what if you are being misled?" She asked quietly, stepping forwards. "You are… new to the Path of the Seer. Not a common Path for a Tou'Her," she added.

"I am assured of this," he said. "Ever since I heard the first note on Gartenwald. The Harlequins are guiding me, albeit it in an unusual way."  
At this, Maion huffed. "I still do not like it. It reeks of danger."

"I asked for your trust once before, and I am afraid I must do it once more," he said. "The others are just as curious as you, but I trust you enough to explain myself. We are family, Maion."

"So is Obsidian," Maion argued.

"Obsidian is... gone," Garnet said, pain filling every word. "Mostly. Lossamdir trusts my abilities simply because of my Path, as old thinkers are wont to do. Tell me - would he have approved of my explanation? Allowed us to continue our mission?"

Maion crossed her arms. "I find myself questioning that as well. The _Void-Whisper_ has been heavily damaged. It is not a new ship. Do you think it can make the journey?"

"It can and it will," Garnet said. "We do not have much further to go. The mariners are committed."

"That is your doing, Uncle," Maion said.

"I know," Garnet replied. "They trust me. Do you, Maion?"

She considered that, blinking in the red light of the wounded heartstone. "I do," she said softly. "Of course I do." A few steps brought her closer to her Uncle, where she embraced him warmly. "I know you wouldn't lead us astray on purpose."

Garnet accepted her embrace, patting her back. "Thank you, Maion. In times such as these - on dangerous missions like this one, family must stick together."

"You sound like Grandmother," Maion said, pulling away.

"She did raise me," Garnet reminded her, smiling broadly. Maion grinned too. "But that does not mean she was incorrect. This is an utterly unique situation we find ourselves in. I don't blame you for your worry."

Maion's rapped her fist against his glossy armor. "I can only imagine what Lossamdir would have to say about your navigational talents."

Garnet huffed a short laugh. "Isha protect us. I think his head would implode."

Maion's smile fell. "And what about Yang?"

"Yang trusts us because of who we're descended from. Her support will not last forever. Do you think you can best her when it counts?"

Maion sighed, making and unmaking her fist. "Perhaps. Considering the source of her power…" She didn't want to think too much about that. When she linked minds with Yang and the truth of her soul came spilling out, it was nearly enough to blind her.

Garnet grunted a rueful acknowledgement. "I never said it would be easy. It is very likely we will not have to fight her at all - Weiss may want to destroy it as much as we do. Only if they attempt to take it as a prize will we need to intervene."

"That is good news for your face," Maion said, her grin returning. Garnet chuckled too, feeling the edge of his jaw with a long finger. The left side of his face was still blue and purple, but had returned to its original shape. "It seems as though the fury Yang visited upon it was returned with a vengeance."

Garnet nodded. "I should have told her what Rubric Marines were like." His silver eyes met the floor. "But Lossamdir wanted to test her. Given the result, I pray we will not have to fight her."

Maion did not reply, and they thought back to the brief and violent confrontation aboard Ahriman's frigate. The silence that stretched before them was reply enough.

* * *

**A/N: And that does it for the frigate confrontation! Not too much to say, only that things are finally falling into place. The Black Library awaits…**

**Also, I'm not 100% on how Ahriman steers his frigates, so (shockingly) I made something up that was suitably horrific. However, I did have some help from ElMariachi on Sufficient Velocity for these past couple chapters, of which I am very grateful.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you next time!**


	65. Like No Other Human

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 64: Like No Other Human**

"_Questions are dangerous things. They may lead to heresy, or worse - an answer." - Commissar Ingrid Hauptmann_

A white face, a laughing face, one that swallowed up everything. It was just beyond the glass cage, the one that imprisoned Yang. She hated its bright-toothed smile, its mocking sneer, its conceit, its arrogance, the alien tint to its livid green eyes.

She pressed against the glass like she always did. Once more, nothing came of her struggle. Only now the pure-white face giggled at her, a sound that filled the whole of the cage and drove itself into her ears and she couldn't hear anything else and-

fuck you she screamed

The laughing did not cease.

let me out she hollered

The laughing got louder.

Blood spilled out from her eyes, great rivers of red that filled her cage and threatened to drown her. She wanted Little-Yang to come and free her, allow her to escape, but as the blood filled her lungs the only thing she could see was a white face.

A laughing face.

* * *

Yang awoke to a world of black. Terror seized her before her face ached in pain, and she remembered what had happened. Groaning, she sat up, tried to take in her surroundings. Once more she found herself in a hospital of some sort, that, while not as creepy as Prexius' lair, still made her hackles stand on end.

Instead of dark machines and clattering servitors, this place was sterile and clean, devoid of medical tech or staff. She couldn't deny however, that whatever fuckery the eldar treated her with, it beat the hell out of IVs and wheelchairs.

Beds lined the walls, most of them full of sleeping eldar, each clad in a white silk robe. One that Yang wore as well. As befitting the eldar, it was disgustingly soft and comfortable. She tried to make more of the room, but her swollen eyes made it difficult - everything had been subsumed in a dark haze, and her head pounded.

A painful reminder of her arrogance.

Her fingers reached up to caress her face, checking for the worst of the damage. She brushed up against her face and winced.

_Careful now_.

Preliminary examination showed that her nose was badly broken. There wasn't more than a painful knot where her nostrils used to be.

_I'm lucky that skull fragments didn't pierce my brain_.

A long gash in her lip reached her cheek, and every inch of her face was purple and black. Only by the Emperor's mercy - or by some Eldar healing power - she was able to open a single eye.

Once more, she'd almost been defeated... by a single traitor marine no less.

Her hands hurt. A new sensation. She flexed her fist, inspecting the scrapes that marked her knuckles. Even guarded by Ember Celica and carapace armor, they suffered from her aura depletion.

_Shouldn't have hit that serf so hard_.

Sighing, she curled up, bringing her knees close to her chest. _This is what I deserve. At least I managed some decent casting without going completely batshit._

She huffed, a weak laugh. Amat's words came back to her. 'You had no idea.' He wasn't wrong, it just didn't make her feel any better.

_How long do I have to live in the Imperium before I learn? How long until I learn the old ways won't always work?_

She wondered if Weiss suffered too when she first arrived. She'd grown old on Remnant, but arrived as a child. As did Pyrrha.

_What makes me special? Why did I arrive on Woadia as an adult?_

Yang grunted. Her head ached, and asking impossible questions didn't help. Swinging her feet off the bed, she sat up, steadying herself on the bedside. Blood rushed to her head, a purple haze that swallowed her vision. With a grunt, she hopped off the bed.

Bare feet slapped at the cold wraithbone floor. She shivered. Pressing on, she made her way out of the medbay and into the halls of the _Void-Whisper_. She'd gotten to know the ship well enough in the few weeks she'd spent aboard. Well enough to not get lost. It was still a dizzying collection of corridors and snaking hallways, all of them sparse and nondescript.

"Amat?" She called. No response.

_Probably painting in the cargo bay_. Her stomach rumbled, demanding her attention.

_Well, I know where I'm headed_.

Keeping a hand on the walls, she made her way back to the cargo bay. A pair of mariners passed her by, making an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact. She watched them stalk down the halls, backs ramrod straight and clad in black robes. _Buncha assholes_. The sooner she was done with this Black Library business, the better.

_And then what? You're just gonna ignore the fact that a few of these eldar are Pyrrha's family?_

The Imperium... hell, the Milky Way was unfathomably large. What were the chances of her running into more of her friends?

_Well, if they've been anything like they have this year, pretty damn good_. She sighed. _I suppose it's better to play nice. If Josephus doesn't have anything on Ruby, it'd be good to have another set of eyes poking around the galaxy._

_But what if the Tou'Her don't play nice? Where do their ultimate loyalties lie? To their craftworld, or to their family? To-_

"Golden fucking Throne, Yang!"

Yang turned to the voice, squinting with her one good eye. It was Williams, the kasrkin medic.

"Hey man," she replied with a wave.

"Captain said you got fucked up," he said with a low whistle. "He was not lying."

"You should see the other guys," Yang said. "What are you doing out here?"

Williams shifted his weight, purple eyes searching elsewhere. "Ordered to collect you, actually. Captain didn't like leaving you in eldar hands."

Yang blinked with her one good eye. By Darron's standards, he was either doing her a favor by 'rescuing' her from the clutches of xenos, or making sure she didn't spend too much time alone with them. Either way, she didn't like Darron's meddling.

"Well here I am," Yang said. "I was headed back anyway."

"Good to hear," Williams said. "This place gives me the creeps."

"It's too quiet," Yang concurred.

Williams appraised her. "That's exactly it," he said, voice dripping contempt. "It's like a graveyard in here."

"Well, let's not keep Darron waiting," Yang said, passing the medic. "He's bound to get antsy otherwise."

"About that," Williams asked, falling in beside her. "Before we get to the Captain, I have to ask… how'd the mission go?"

"We're still here, aren't we?" Yang asked pointedly. "Wouldn't be having the conversation otherwise."

"That badly?" Williams asked.

"What is it about medics being insufferable assholes?" Yang asked, a hint of a smile on what was left of her face. "It's almost as if it's a job requirement to have the bedside manner of an ill-tempered grox."

"It's part of the job description," Williams said. "We also come equipped with speciality bullshit detectors. So I'll ask again - off the record… how did the mission go?"

"You won't like the answer dude, so quit asking." Yang replied.

Williams scratched at the back of his neck. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Other than my face, it went pretty well," Yang said. "Turns out when you don't spend every minute snipping at the eldar, they're actually powerful allies."

Williams frowned.

"Told you," Yang said. Williams ceased his pestering, but he did to ponder her response carefully. _Probably the best I can get from these guys_.

Yang's predictions turned out to be accurate, as Darron was already halfway through his allotted lhos by the time they arrived in the cargo bay. He acknowledged their arrival with a grunt before grinding his stick into the floor. He made a concentrated effort to smear the ash around as much as possible. Even managed to get some on the walls.

"I got the mission report from Lossamdir," Darron said, spitting out the name. "He said you made a decent account of yourself."

"From an eldar, that's practically gushing praise," Yang said. "Can you spare a lho?"

"I don't have many left," Darron said.

"You also didn't get your face smashed in by a traitor marine," Yang replied. "And the eldar skimped out on the pain meds."

Darron looked to his wife, who gave him a noncommittal shrug. With great reluctance, he handed her a lho stick.

"Thanks," she said, igniting it with the light of her soul. The kasrkin radiated disdain, but Yang didn't care. Taking a drag, she did her best to block out the constant, droning pain.

"Lossamdir mentioned the traitor marines," Darron said. "Ahriman's lot."

"Yeah," Yang said. "If you wanna talk about warp fuckery, those assholes certainly count. Armor stuffed with dust, animated by magic and shit. Slaves," she added with a sneer.

"And you survived?"

Yang let loose a trail of smoke. "We kicked their ashes," she said. The kasrkin groaned, but she'd earned a shameful grin from the Lieutenant. "Fuck you, that was funny," Yang protested. Chera gave her a Woadian salute.

"This is serious, Sergeant," Darron said.

"We all made it back," Yang growled. "An eldar got his leg blown off, but we survived. We _won_. There's nothing to talk about."

"Were you this disrespectful to Sergeant Jorvis?" Darron asked.

"Back the fuck up Captain," Yang said, pointing at him with the lit end of her lho stick. "Jorvis _earned_ my respect. That salty son of a bitch was pushing eighty and he still fought on the front lines. Wasn't trained on fucking Cadia either." She sighed, taking another drag. The smoke scorched her throat and poured out from her ruined nostrils, but it tasted good. Took the edge off. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't fight. Not on board an eldar ship. Not on this mission."

"Wise," Darron allowed, his eyes narrow. "And I agree."

"Amat didn't tell you all of this though?" Yang asked. She huffed a short laugh, which sent a lance of pain arcing through her jaw. "I'm sure he'd be more cooperative."

Darron managed a smile as well. "I thought the same, but I haven't seen him since he dropped you off at the medbay."

* * *

The dining hall was quiet, unusual for this time of the cycle. Maion found it appropriate however, given the damage suffered by the _Void-Whisper _\- many of the mariners were either busy with patchwork repairs or grieving their fallen brethren.

Amat the assassin was also quiet, staring at her from across the table. His face was blank, an oddity considering his mon'keigh origins. He kept it like an eldar - though she doubted the irony ever surfaced in his mind.

"Thank you for meeting with me," she said, pouring him a glass of summervine. He watched every scarlet drop fall free from the crystal decanter, his eyes like sunbursts that scoured her soul.

"What do you need?" He asked.

Maion pushed the drink towards the assassin. "This is summervine," she said. "This particular sample was brewed on the lower decks of Il-Kaithe."

He inspected it carefully, searching it for hints of poison or other such tamperings.

"I promise you it is safe to drink," she said. "Though it's not the finest I can offer… Il-Kaithe is not known for its pursuit of good summervine. An Alaitoc vintage would be a more generous offering, but they would probably pilot their craftworld into a sun rather than let a drop of it touch mon'keigh lips."

Amat took a careful mouthful, tasting it to its fullest.

"Yet you give it to me of your own free will," Amat said cautiously. "A mon'keigh."

"You are observant for your kind," Maion said. "A rarity."

"It is who I am," he replied.

"Well," Maion continued, "Il-Kaithe cannot afford the same luxuries as Alaitoc. We do not share the same priorities. Where they are the cultural touchstone of the eldar, we are militants, sworn enemies of chaos. We are far more willing to work with entities Altaioc would not even consider."

Amat took another swallow of summervine. He was handling it well, and appeared to enjoy it. "I doubt that tasting alien wine is the reason you're here."

"Correct," Maion answered. The purpose for serving him summervine was to determine if he could answer her questions without descending into dogmatic lines of thought, but the assassin did not need to know that.

"I know you have been stalking the halls of the _Void-Whisper_," Maion continued, "but there is also an air of curiosity about you, something rare for a mon'keigh. Questions fill your soul."

A huff of laughter escaped him. "I can't say you're wrong, xenos. But there is something troubling you as well. You eldar like to pretend that you are impenetrable and serene, but you are as opaque as glass."

Maion frowned. _Perhaps the summervine gambit was not the best course of action. Perhaps I should have simply gone straight to Yang_. What was most irritating was that he was right.

"Very well, assassin. I was never good at the liar's game."

"So you keep saying," Amat replied.

Maion took a sip of her own summervine. "You are not like your comrades," she said. "And Yang favors you with her attentions."

He shifted in his seat, eyes meeting his drink. The question made him uncomfortable. "I have seen Remnant," he said. "I have said this before."

"Yet you still drink 'xenos' wine, where any other mon'keigh would slit their own throats rather than swallow a mouthful. Why is that, assassin?"

"Because of Yang," he said, as if it explained everything. "She lives her life without fear or suspicion. Even if she should. She is…" he fumbled, unable to find the proper words. "Free," he said finally. "In a way no other human can be."

Maion blinked. Not the answer she had been expecting. _Perhaps this is why I am destined never to walk the Path of the Seer._

"And you seek to emulate her?" Maion asked.

"Understand her," he said, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter any further. "Why did you seek me out, Maion?"

"A simple question Amat," she said. "Do you believe this mission will be of any use?"

"To the Black Library?" he asked. She nodded. "I can't say. And it doesn't matter if it is or isn't. I go with Yang."

"Such uncommon dedication," Maion said, hoping to pry deeper.

"She cannot fall to chaos," he replied. "No matter what. And she is my friend. She is… brighter when I'm around."

"Oh?" An interesting line of questioning for later perusal. "And the fact that it was proposed by eldar doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does," Amat said. "It was Garnet's idea, wasn't it? And for that matter, why didn't he explain himself? Are you not family?"

"That's not... " Maion frowned, caught off-guard by the assassin's pointed questions. "Garnet is a seer. Mon'keigh often mock eldar for their obtusity, but it is not uncommon for eldar to think the same of our most revered mystics."

Amat found that amusing, picking up his glass with a hint of a smile. "To the mysteries of witchcraft then?" He asked, extending his glass.

Maion smiled wide. Now she understood why Yang was so attached to him. In a galaxy overflowing with mon'keigh, Amat was the closest thing to a real human she could find. A source of comfort, a beacon of succor in a benighted world. The implication that she could not find the same in Weiss spoke volumes about the direction of the Ice Queen's life.

"To the mysteries of warp-craft," Maion concurred, meeting his glass and drinking deep. "Personally, I cannot see the end of the road Garnet has set us upon. He seems convinced, but he was always given over to flights of fancy. Even Grandmother knew that."

They sat in silence for a moment, relishing the quiet of the dining hall. Their eyes met, and a shiver of discomfort ran up Maion's spine. Had Amat the fate to be born an eldar, he would have certainly been among her comrades at the Shadowed Sword - no matter what the oversized rifle on his back said.

"And what questions currently beset you?" Maion asked.

"Your semblance," Amat answered immediately. "It was not difficult to deduce, nor was Garnet's. You flit between the shadows like you were born from them."

Maion nodded. "A fortunate boon, considering the Path I walk upon."

"And Garnet's is his shield?"

"Sort of," Maion answered. "It is a form of soul projection, but he has always been tight-lipped about the details."

Amat nodded. "If you say so. Honestly, the concept of auras and semblances still troubles me."

"It is simply a matter of the soul," Maion explained. "Surely Weiss showed you that?"

"Yang told me that, but Weiss showed me none of it," he replied. "And though she showed me quite a bit, the more intricate details elude me." He waved his hand. "But that's not what's eating at me. It's Lossamdir."

"Oh?" Maion prompted.

"Yes. I realize he is an exarch now, and there is little left of your Uncle within him… but he has to realize the benefits such power could provide. Why did he not use his semblance? He has surely discovered it by now."

Maion frowned as bitter, terrible memories surfaced.

"Maion?"

"Obsidian's semblance was not… suited for the work at hand. It is a great and terrible thing, one he discovered at a great price," she said. Even now, she could see Aunt Faenys breaking down, hands pulling at her luscious black hair, tears streaming down her cheeks when she realized her husband would not return to her. "The moment he unlocked it, his war-mask swallowed him whole."

* * *

**A/N: We'll be taking a break from Yang's Gang next chapter, and go see what's up on Weiss' corner of the Galaxy. Hope she's doing well!**

**Also, leave a review to let me know what you thought! Feedback is the best. :)**

**One last thing for 40k lore nerds like myself - here, I described Alaitoc as the 'cultural touchstone' of the Eldar race, which I feel is consistent with their portrayal in the Path of the Eldar series, though it might contrast with other portrayals in other Black Library publications.**


	66. The Soul is the Conscience of Sentience

**A/N: An Ira POV chapter! Haven't had one of those in awhile...**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 65:** **The Soul is the Conscience of Sentience**

"_The Omnissiah's designs are grand, each soul a single cog in the greatest machine ever made." _\- _Magos Corva_

Ira meditated in the Lady Highest's chambers, parsing data with a hum of simplistic binary cant. He kept careful watch over his Lady all the same, making sure her vitals were stable. Besides an elevated heartbeat however, she slept soundly. In her fingers she clutched the relic she'd liberated from Ezzelino, a calming refuge in the chaos of the past few hours.

Despite the Hallowed Inquisitor's misgivings, he'd breached the secrecy of the compound and invited the Sisters of the Sacred Rose to attend the Lady Highest. Alone, he was not enough to keep her safe.

Ira breathed deep, augmented lungs swelling with twice-filtered air. Now that his Lady was incapacitated, it fell to him to make up the difference left in her temporary absence. He felt woefully inadequate to fill such boots, but he did not join the Inquisition to remain tremulous and indecisive. Action was always preferable over vacillation.

He hoped she would recover soon. Though he was now a Recongrator in full, this place was not his home. The techpriests here were strange and flighty, and so many of them kept their flesh. Not like Magos Tyrham.

Fatigue settled into his subsystems. His former master acquired projects like a squeaky cog acquires grease, and had needed all the help he could get. But he was ascended, a Magos in full, his dedication to the Omnissiah unquestionable. Magos Tyrham did not feel tired or inadequate, nor did he sleep or dream.

And news of the Chariot had put them all on edge. Knowledge regarding it was spreading like an oil fire, and locating it was a duty beyond any Ira could hope for. To live in such times was to live a life of tremendous faith and terrible fear.

Uriel had been fully mobilized thanks to the efforts of Magos Tyrham, the forgeworld's entire armada lying in wait - waiting for news of the Chariot before descending en masse. Ira prayed that Captain Darron's mission was a success, and that valuable intel had been obtained from Lady Silvershield's team. The former skitarii knew her only as a shadowy and perpetually grinning sort, a woman rumored to have an unhealthy fascination with eldar.

If the kasrkin and Yang knew the weight of what they carried, Ira suspected it would crush them.

Armored knuckles rapped against the Lady Highest's door. The Sisters. Even from here, he could hear their power armor whirring, smell the stink of incense and sacred unguent hanging from their persons.

He opened the door to reveal three women that towered over him. The Palatine, Sister Eleven, and Sister Victoria. The final sister nodded at Ira, the simple stylings on her bionic fist glimmering a dull, holy gold. Some of of his better work. Did she need another tuning? Possible, but the Palatine's impertinent frown and straight-backed demeanor suggested otherwise.

In the sparse, wire-lined walls of the Recongrator headquarters, they seemed to take up every inch of space. It wasn't like the open halls of Uriel's forges, where he could feel the programs swirling around him and the machine-spirits singing in harmony.

Here, the halls were sparse and clean, and far too shallow. They made Ira feel like an insect scurrying underneath a microscope.

"Is there something amiss, Palatine?" he asked.

"We need to speak with the Inquisitor," the Palatine, blunt and to-the-point.

"The Lady Inquisitor is resting," Ira said. "It wouldn't do for us to disturb her."

Palatine Naja bint Mutaa al'Ibahni's frown deepened, twisting her scarred lips into an ugly shape. "Very well," she allowed, bristling. "You are sure she is not corrupted?"

"Absolutely," he responded. The Sisters had such a... linear mode of processing, their list of questions rarely more than 'where is the enemy' and 'how many'. This was the first time they had made their insinuations regarding their Lady's state so naked and bold.

_It is not a useless inquiry_, Ira reminded himself. _It simply lacks a spine._

"I understand your concerns, Palatine," Ira continued, "but I will repeat myself once more: the ruinous powers do not assail her."

"How can you be so sure?" The Palatine asked. In the tight confines of the hallway, her voice seemed to resonate, to swallow him and the other Sisters.

"I have been investigating Heretics for twenty years," Ira answered. "Guilt is evident in moments. The way they speak, the way they breathe, their very presence screams it to the heavens," he said.

"Our Lady's mad ramblings did not give me a good impression," the Palatine said. Her adjutant nodded sagely, the elegant scars on her face still and unmoving.

"That is because you did not listen," Ira said, careful to take the proper tone - instructive, rather than condescending or didactic. Learning how to impart tone and meaning in words beyond their base meaning had always been a challenge. "And you lack the hardware to interpret her words fully," he added, not unkindly. He opened his Lady's door. She rested peacefully, lips working yet silent all the same.

"To you she rambles and raves, but I hear it all. She speaks not in madness nor in heresy," he said, glancing sideways at the Sisters, peering at them from the rim of his hood. "But in fragments of a whole. She beseeches the Emperor for guidance, begins ancient conversations one moment, and abandons them the next... only to return to them an hour later. Not a single word indicates she has fallen, but she is undeniably... broken," he finished. "There is something wrong with her."

_Or this place_, he thought. Ever since her promotion, something had begun to gnaw at the Lady Highest. But nothing so dramatic as to reduce her to her current state. Perhaps Captain Darron was right - the arrival of Yang Xiao Long had stirred something loose in their Lady, unscrewed a vital gasket that kept the great Lady healthy and hale.

But that couldn't be what troubled her now - _The Scythe of Morning_ had received no word from Darron's team since their arrival on Kastile Secundus. Only after her promotion did she seem shaken.

Sister Eleven rolled her broad shoulders, her pauldrons nearly scraping against the walls. "You understand our position," she rumbled. He did.

"I assure you my diagnosis has not been compromised by sentimentality," Ira said. "Our Lady is extremely disoriented, but no more than that. There is no need for suspicion."

A servitor stomped past, one that belonged to the Recongrators. Ira and the Sisters lapsed into silence as it passed, an unspoken agreement that their words were better left privy only to themselves.

"I will be the judge of that," the Palatine said once the servitor had rounded the distant corner. "We will not serve a fallen Inquisitor."

"You won't," Ira reassured her. "The instant I believe your suspicions are justified, it will be my blades that pierce her hearts," he said, sweeping aside his cloak to reveal one of his power swords. Even in the dim, reflective lighting of the Recongrator compound, it shimmered with promise.

That was the deal, after all. The Lady Highest knew the risks of her witchcraft, and one of the first things Ira learned was identifying the signs of those possessed with its talents. And those who had fallen prey to its perils.

"Is this something we need the Magi for?" the Palatine asked.

Ira shook his head. "Magos Tyrham is consumed with more important projects, and as for Magos Prexius…"

"I think it's best we involve her as little as possible," Sister Victoria finished, to the grim amusement of her sisters. Sister Eleven huffed a short laugh.

"A wise decision," Ira admitted. His bionic eyes flicked to either end of the hallway, ensuring the Hallowed Inquisitor did not slink in the shadows. "This place is an unsettling one," he said. "I trust you all far more than the current occupants," he added, playing to their egos. Another lesson that needed learning in his twenty years under the Lady Inquisitor. "It's imperative we keep our Lady safe."

"It's our job," Sister Victoria said, resting a gauntlet on her thunder hammer. Sister Eleven rankled as well, trailing a finger over the housing of her heavy bolter.

"She brought us here," the Palatine reminded them.

"It is an Inquisitorial headquarters," Ira replied. _And home of the Recongrators. Of brothers and sisters dedicated to a cause far greater than themselves, each one a cog in a great machine._ His opinion of their goal did not change his opinion of their headquarters.

"But that does not make it a haven," he said. There was something in the air here. He could not sense it with his many instruments, nor log its presence, but he felt it all the same. It was an unsettling ache, one that discomfited him, made him feel like his composite parts were being pried from him. _Was it here when I arrived?_

"Is there another reason why you sought me?" Ira asked.

"No, Ira. We merely wanted... clarification," the Palatine said gruffly. "We have spoken but once since you invited us in. You are her sole Acolyte, and her duties fall to you while she is…" she paused. "_Disoriented_."

"You have your orders," Ira said. "Though I suggest adding four additional sisters to patrol duty. One can never be too sure."

The Palatine nodded. "I will send a message along."

"Ensure the astropaths stay aboard the _Scythe of Morning_," Ira added. If there was something truly amiss with his Lady's witchcraft, more psykers could only compound the issue.

The Sisters did not salute like they did to the Lady Highest, but they obeyed all the same. Sister Victoria remained behind.

"Now?" Ira asked.

She nodded and displayed her new arm. "Pinky finger's been acting up," she said. "I know it's not done, but this is the first issue I've had with it."

Ira smiled. "Very well. Step inside, and please be quiet."

Sister Victoria nodded, and ducked into the Lady Highest's quarters. After one last look into the hallway, Ira locked the door behind him. In his Lady's quarters, the space was well-kept and organized, though some blood-spattered books and her personal dataslate lay askew on a simple desk. The cogitator beside it lay dormant and unused.

The Lady's wargear stood on a rack at the foot of her bed, imposing and glorious.

Ira led the Sister past it, into an adjoining room within the quarters. A small kitchenette with a well-stocked refrigerator and flame-retardant dining table awaited - Ira's impromptu workshop while his Lady was unwell.

He gestured for her to sit at the head of the table, where his tools lay unfurled atop a sheet of embroidered scarlet silk. True to his request for silence, she knelt with great restraint, taking care that her armor did not whirr overmuch. Ira suspected that if she sat on the provided chair, she would crush it beneath her.

She offered her arm to him, which he took with great care. It wasn't an elegant construction (elegance suited Sister Victoria like serenity suited the Palatine) but it was something far greater - it was functional. Built atop a simple heavy-duty plasteel skeleton, it was a five-fingered death dealer, clad in black ceramite and inlaid with dulled gold. Its knuckles were capped with golden skulls, frowning and imperious.

"May I?" Ira asked.

"Of course," Sister Victoria said, sure to keep her voice low. Ira's finger split apart to reveal a tuning tool, which he attached to the Sister's elbow. The plates on her arm sprung apart at the seams, ready for maintenance.

"Have you noticed any other problems?" Ira asked, his eyes automatically adjusting the brightness to see into the depths of his work.

"Not outside the pinky-finger issue," Sister Victoria replied. "I've kept it well oiled and maintained, per your instructions."

"Good, good," Ira mumbled.

In the room behind them, the Inquisitor mumbled something in her sleep, something about strings. Ira logged the words, storing them away for later cross-referencing. Perhaps in a few days he could uncover what his Lady was trying to say.

"Is she…?" Sister Victoria asked, green eyes wide as they examined her Lady.

"She is fine," Ira said, turning a bolt a millimeter wide. Odd for it to have come loose so soon after installation. A prayer to the Omnissiah played on a loop in his secondary processes, guiding his hands and directing his efforts. He ignited his wire-torch.

Pressing it to a psuedonerve bundle, he investigated the source of Sister Victoria's complaint.

Sister Victoria's arm was still in its tuning stages. Ira would have preferred to spend another month or so before grafting it to her flesh, but - true to her calling - she demanded it be attached anyways, in case she would have need of it.

It surprised him.

Maintenance while augmentics were still attached often caused their wielders great pain. But Sister Victoria did not flinch or grunt. A blue spark flickered into existence before she waved it away absentmindedly. In fact, she seemed wholly fascinated with his work.

"It's no masterful construction, I assure you," Ira said, his finger tip fixing a bolt in place. It seems as though the Sister had been exercising her new arm quite extensively. In preparation for what, he couldn't say, but it was the cause for the pinky-finger's erratic movements. "The Omnissiah has not yet granted me such insight."

_The error I'm correcting is proof enough of that._

"It's sturdy," Sister Victoria said. "In the end, that's all that matters."

"Holy is the work that lasts eons," Ira intoned, agreeing. "Though it lacks Magos Tyrham's touch."

Sister Victoria smiled, revealing a golden incisor engraved with a fleur-de-lis. "The Magos is incredibly busy, from what I've heard."

"It's the truth. These are trying times we live in," Ira replied. "An abundance of projects distract him from the gravest worries."

The Lady Highest mumbled in her sleep, something about deserving to be a 'team leader'. Ira recorded it and logged it with the others, filing it away in his memory banks. Making sense of it would come later. Right now, his attentions were focused on his work.

"The Chariot," Sister Victoria said, her smile long vanished. "I pray we are not too late."

"It matters not," Ira said. "Even if we stand alone against all of Josephus' armada, we must continue."

"Are we?" Sister Victoria asked. "Alone, I mean."

Ira shook his head, loosening a few wires from atop his head. "News about the Chariot has spread, far beyond Our Lady's intentions to keep the news within a select few." He frowned, fastening a new electroservo conduit to the arm. Now that he had fixed the errant finger, additional work could progress. "Uriel has recalled its fleets. The sheer holy tonnage..." Ira wiped a bead of sweat away from his eyes. One of the many annoying downsides beholden to flesh. It was frustrating that many of the augmentations he'd rejected were prerequisites for the ones he actually desired.

"Trying times," Sister Victoria agreed. "But the Emperor shall see us through."

Ira burbled an 'amen' in binary, to Sister Victoria's amusement.

"How's it looking?" She asked, nodding at her arm.

"Almost done," Ira answered, sealing away one of the gearboxes. "The machine-spirits within are cooperative," he noted. "Despite their humble origins."

"You're pretty good," Sister Victoria said, waggling her metal fingers. "You must have excellent teachers."

"Our Lady's tech-priests have been helpful, but far from friendly," Ira said. "Only Magos Tyrham teaches with passion."

"He is quite different from the Magi I've known in the Sacred Rose," Sister Victoria admitted.

"He is an uncommon Magos," Ira replied. "He sees potential in everything, in everyone. I began as no more than a pawn in his forces, but he allowed me to become something far greater."

Sister Victoria half-smiled. "In that way, the venerable Magos is not too different than Palatine al'Ibanhi."

Ira sealed up the final hatch, soldering the last bits of circuitry back into place. His finger attached to her elbow once more, and the arm sealed itself shut. But Sister Victoria didn't leave.

"Most of the Thanatos mission are the Sacred Rose's refuse," she continued. "Saved by the Emperor's grace from the Repentia, but not from an ignoble posting. And the Palatine doesn't care. She sees the Emperor's grace within all of us."

"What did you do end up here?" Ira asked, curiosity peaked.

"A previous Lector and I did not see eye to eye," Sister Victoria said, metallic fingers wrapping around the hilt of her thunderhammer, fluttering the purity seals that adorned it. She hefted her weapon, letting it rest against her consecrated pauldron. "I was... a troubled child. But the Lector was not possessed of the Palatine's foresight. She only saw a nail that stuck up..." She spun her hammer, flowing into a silent dance of perfect, mechanical strikes, pushing her arm to its limits as it swung the relic around. Within the confines of the cramped kitchenette, it came close to striking the walls several times, but Ira knew she would never be so careless.

"The Palatine saw a hammer." Sister Victoria said, finishing her dance. Once more, she rested the weapon on her shoulder. "Thank you Lord Ira," Sister Victoria said.

"Simply Ira will do," Ira said. "Two more sessions, and it should be good for the next decade."

"Provided I apply the proper unguents?" Sister Victoria said, a hint of gold peeking through grinning lips.

"And prayers," Ira chided. "Machine-spirits are fickle, and deserve dread respect. The ones in that arm seem content though, so you must be keeping them assuaged."

"Through me, the Emperor does His will," Sister Victoria said. "And through my will, the machine-spirits serve Him too."

Ira bowed, his knuckles making the sign of the cog. "Blessings of the Omnissiah upon thee," he said.

In return, Sister Victoria made the sign of the Aquila. "May hatred steel your heart," she returned. ''Should the Inquisitor awaken, I wish her well. The Emperor needs all of His servants."

She departed, once more leaving Ira with his ailing Mistress. He returned to his praying, awaiting the moment she would murmur another piece of the puzzle.

Sister Victoria's intrusion had been a pleasant one. She paid the Omnissiah proper due, and he couldn't help but feel a swell of satisfaction that the work he put into her arm was bearing fruit - small glitches notwithstanding. It was a new feeling, one wrapped in the trappings of flesh, but welcome nonetheless.

"He's here," the Lady Highest said to no one. "He's here." Ira logged her words, a low prayer in binary ensuring everything was organized properly.

The unmistakable bellow of an explosion rocked the entire facility, a great quake of judgmental fury that seemed to swell up from the depths of the earth. Ira dove atop his Lady, augmented body shielding her from harm. The room continued to rumble, summoning bits of the ceiling to crumble and fall. Blood and ichor pumped from Ira's ears. Even in the cavernous home of the Recongrators, the explosion was piercing. His audio feed whined and spat out gibberish, trying to sort itself out.

Amidst the chaos, the Lady Highest merely turned over in her sleep.

"Told you," she said as fresh blood streamed from her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh, that can't be good! I wonder what that could be?**

**However, we won't find out for awhile, seeing as in the next chapter Yang and company reach their long-awaited destination…**

**Also, a short note regarding the story as a whole: currently, I've plotted out chapters up to Chapter 101. At that point, the end of the story is in sight, so it looks like A World of Bloody Evolution will end up being around 115 chapters long. It definitely won't be shorter, but it **_**could**_ **end up being longer.**

**Another important note: I've been asked a lot recently about whether or not the most recent 40k canon advancements (feels so fucking weird to be typing that) will be incorporated into A World of Bloody Evolution.**

**The short answer is "no".**

**The long answer is "not significantly".**

**Basically, I've had this story set in stone for a long time, though I've been open to changing it if I think of something better or am unsatisfied with the direction the story takes. However, in ~3 years of writing, that hasn't changed, not even after the setting changes. What this means is that while I might include some characters, places, or set pieces into the AWoBE, the story will not march in lock-step with what occurs during the most recent book. In fact, it will deviate quite severely. The reasons for that will become apparent shortly (think within the next 10-12 chapters), and I think you guys will like what's to come.**

**I won't say anymore for fear of spoilers.**

**Until next time!**


	67. Unwhole

**A/N: And so begins the 'Black Library' arc!**

* * *

**Book Two: Corruption's End**

* * *

**Chapter 66: Unwhole**

"_All that awaits us is the void. In some ways, it is for the best." - [REDACTED], Founder of [REDACTED]._

Gingerly, Yang's fingers caressed the bandages that enveloped her face. A slight thrum of pain replied, low and demanding.

"Don't be a pussy," Janos said, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah yeah, fuck yourself," Yang grumbled, peeling the bandages away. A week after their run-in with Ahriman's goons, and her face had only now begun to heal. Usually her aura was more proactive in repairing battle damage - especially in the Imperium - but it seemed reluctant to begin work on her face. _Don't want to rush things I suppose_, she thought, grunting as the removal of a particularly stubborn bandage threatened another headache. _It's a sensitive area. Wouldn't want my patented Xiao Long genes going to waste_. She grinned, which hurt.

"Any particular reason you're all so keen on watching me torture myself?" She asked the kasrkin.

"Mostly cause it's fun," Chera chimed in. "And we're bored as shit. Darron's out of lho, and Williams cheats at cards."

"I just cheat better," Williams protested.

"It's good to see you a little bruised up," Darron added unhelpfully. "Put a dent in your ego."

Yang huffed, applying a fresh layer of bandages. Already, blood from her split lip flowed anew, staining the clean white linen that kissed it.

"A traitor marine did this to me," Yang said. "Not to mention he was some kind of gheist. If you want the next round in the ring with one of those fuckers, be my guest." Silence. "No takers? That's what I thought."

She finished her bandaging, tying a gentle knot under her golden mane.

"Any of you see Amat?" She asked. She'd awoken at her usual time, but Amat had been absent from his usual perch.

"He's been spending too much time with the xenos," Janos said.

"They've been antsy lately," Darron said, wiping a vizzie cloth along the edge of his hellgun. "We're close. Very close."

His words sent a chill creeping up the Cadians' spines. Even Yang felt the air turn to frost. Apparently, they had picked up a few things from Weiss.

The Black Library _was_ near. None of the humans aboard the _Void-Whisper_ had ever traversed the Webway before, none of them had even heard of the Black Library before three weeks ago... but they still knew. The feeling was inescapable, insidious. It was like being watched, a feeling that even persisted into their dreams. It was as if an all-seeing eye had lain their minds open and found them wanting. It was not malicious, yet seemed all the more terrifying for that fact alone.

Yang opened her mouth to say something, but closed it shortly afterwards. The kasrkin didn't want to hear anything from her. Once more, she felt a pang of longing for her friends on the _Ascendant Dawn. _

_Would they be handling this mission any better?_

She sighed and cracked her knuckles, making sure not to agitate the raw-red skin atop them. With her hands in such bad shape, she was forced to spend even more time with Garnet. Though he was an excellent teacher - words of praise Yang Xiao Long did not hand out lightly - her mind had been given little time to rest. She was glad she'd managed something useful in the bowels of the Sons' frigate, but using her witchcraft still felt wrong. There was still a barrier that kept her from using it like her fists.

"I'm going for a walk," Yang said. She was past the pretense she needed to obey the Captain and his wife.

No one challenged her - they were used to her frequent comings and goings by now. She left the cargo bay, no destination in mind. Though a regular pastime of Yang's, she found it odd that Amat was indulging in it so much recently. Was the Black Library agitating him as well?

_Maybe Maion knows_. Or perhaps it was her that drew Amat from his perch. Yang huffed at that thought. _Unlikely_. Passing Garnet's meditation chamber, she stuck her hands in her pockets. The walls were so samey onboard the _Void-Whisper_. Wasn't like the _Ascendant Dawn_, where each corridor was a reflection of the occupants. There were no Ranshan hieroglyphs that marked their section of the ship, nor the runic script of the Woadians scribbled atop the faded prayers of soldiers that came before.

_I hope Gamma's getting on without me_.

A pair of mariners rushed past her, their faces - typically blank and expressionless - were now marked with apprehension. Yang stopped, turning on her heel to watch them pass. Was there another obstacle? More of Ahriman's band? Or had they finally arrived at the Black Library?

She hoped for the latter. Yang wasn't in a state to fight more of the Prodigal Sons, and if there was a Sorcerer in their midst, she knew she could not face him. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. _Felt wrong to admit that_.

However, another part of her simply wished to see the Library. From the way the eldar spoke about it, she knew she would witness things that would stagger belief. She could already feel it in her fake stomach.

Her hand slipped under her shirt, caressing the spiderweb scar that rippled over her abs, The flesh was wrinkled yet firm. A permanent reminder that chaos offered nothing but annihilation.

Turning on her heel, she entered Garnet's meditation chambers. As expected, he was sitting amidst the constellations of Remnant, his mind wandering free in the stars of his ancestral home.

"He is concentrating," Maion said, apparating from the hallway, her form trailing formless shadow.

"On?"

"On our future," Maion answered. "This entire venture is built on vagueness and uncertainty - things abhorred by the eldar."

"But you went anyway," Yang replied. At that, Maion nodded, pure green eyes lighting upon her uncle.

"We did. Would you follow me, please?"

It was always worded like a question, but like the barking commands of the kasrkin, her words were anything but requests. It was how all the eldar spoke, lofty and holier-than-thou.

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Yang asked.

"Of course not," Maion said. "The Captain wants us at the bridge."

"Fair enough," Yang replied, removing herself from Garnet's chambers. Whatever the warlock saw, she hoped it wasn't as dire as his words on Gartenwald.

She followed Maion, head on a swivel. Though there were no more mariners, the ship itself seemed alive with anticipation, pulsing with nervous energy. _Is it the ship itself, or the souls aboard it?_

Yang preferred not knowing. Whatever it was, the _Void-Whisper_ was still leagues better than the Prodigal Sons' frigate. Maion led her on through the ship, her steps prim yet silent. She moved like Pyrrha did, but with a quiet grace that her Grandmother never achieved on Remnant.

"Hey Maion?" Yang asked. "Quick question."

The eldar woman didn't stop, but she did nod for Yang to continue.

"Have you seen Amat around? He hasn't been coming to roost recently."

"He has been exploring the ship," Maion explained. "His temple has granted him superlative abilities, but he is not as invisible as he would believe."

"He's spying on you?" Yang asked as they turned a corner. The thought didn't sit well with her.

"Not quite," Maion answered. "I would have stopped him if he tried to uncover secrets that he was not meant to find. He tends to avoid the crew - Vindicare Assassins are not a welcome sight amongst my kin."

_For obvious reasons_. "How do you know he's been sneaking around?"

"We have spoken," Maion said. "And I see him on occasion, usually little more than a thin ripple of air. He possess an acute sense of curiosity... for a mon'keigh."

Yang didn't know how to feel about Maion's words. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. _If I'm going to see the Captain, my hair probably shouldn't look like a birds' nest._

They arrived at the bridge's bulkhead, where a familiar shimmer of air awaited. Despite herself, Yang couldn't suppress a grin.

"Well I'll be damned," she said as Amat revealed himself from nothing. "We were just talking about you."

"Apologies, if you were searching for me," he said.

"Maion said you've been exploring," Yang replied. Were it not for his mask, she could've sworn he was blushing.

"Partially true. It is in the nature of the Vindicare to wait and observe," he countered.

"Yang. Amat," Maion interrupted, placing her hand on the crystal that guarded the bulkhead. The doors slid open noiselessly, revealing the bridge in a state of relative chaos.

Yang watched the mariners with reserved satisfaction as they scurried about, obeying the commands of their agitated Captain. Even with the gnawing, lidless eye that pressed down upon the back of her mind, she managed a grin. Once more, the eldar proved themselves to be far more flappable than they cared to admit.

Captain Ellamár ordered something in the tongue of Il-Kaithe, his void-colored cape tessellating with the haste of his gestures. His crew obeyed without question or hesitation, a reflection of the war-party's networked telepathy.

"We're here," Yang realized.

"We are," Maion said with a sideways glance at the Captain. He nodded, barking something else at his subordinates. Once more, the blast shields parted to reveal a stunning sight.

Before them lay the Black Library of Chaos.

Amidst the golden glow of the Webway, it was a sliver of glass, burnt-black and embedded with bubbles of glowing light. Great crystal blisters covered the ship, each one flowing into the next and carrying their own unique beauty.

It hovered above a shattered city, its glory long faded yet evident in the size of the ruins it left behind.

As they neared, the Black Library seemed to swallow them all, revealing its true scale. It was _titanic_. Each blister put Imperial architects to shame, to say nothing of the structures contained within. Great spires and obelisks lay inside, visible through the transparent walls of crystal citadels large enough to engulf the _Ascendant Dawn_.

"You needed to see," Maion explained. "See the same thing that's been haunting our dreams these past few weeks. Know that you are one of the few humans to ever lay eyes upon the eldar's most sacred and treasured relics. Know, and be in awe."

Yang didn't need convincing - though she noticed Maion was nearly as slack-jawed as herself.

* * *

Ira drew his power swords, the machine-spirits within buzzing with murderous intent. Something - or someone - had penetrated the Recongrators' compound. Whatever it was, it would not lay a finger on his Lady.

The Sisters of Battle thought along similar lines, bashing down the bulkhead to the Lady Highest's quarters in their haste to assess her. With their weapons drawn, the three heavily-armored women filled the room.

"We need to move her," the Palatine said. "Get her off-planet, if possible. Can you hail Serviceman Chung?" She asked Ira. "I cannot contact my pilot-sisters."

Ira shook his head. "I've been attempting to raise a signal every point-oh-five seconds since the explosion, but no one has picked up. I fear communications between us and the outside world have been severed."

"Damnation!" The Palatine cursed. "Sister Eleven, gather as many Sisters as you can. We shall flag a transport down with our bare hands if we must."

They didn't trust this place. Ira didn't either, but that was a thought best logged for later.

"Let us spirit our Lady away," he said. Sister Victoria nodded, bundling up the Lady Highest into her arms. In her state, she looked to be no more than a fragile doll, her skin pallid and lifeless. She mumbled against Sister Victoria's armor, clenching the plates tightly.

They departed without saying another word, hastening from their superior's quarters. In the halls of the Recongrators' headquarters, emergency lights doused the walls in a dire red light, barely enough to keep the shadows away. Functionaries and servitors flitted about the hallways, panicked and confused. Ira had no difficulties navigating the dimly lit corridors - he had long ago constructed a digital map of the premises, all thanks to his bionic enhancements. He directed the Sisters to the antechamber.

Sister Eleven returned with a handful of Battle Sisters - Sisters Nanda, Yulska, Emmanuelle, Sho, Macie, and Lora according to Ira's logs. Most were armored with standard Sacred Rose equipment - blessed boltguns dripping with purity seals, though Sister Nanda and Sister Macie carried a pair of bolt pistols. Their party now numbered ten members, excluding the Inquisitor. Before they could progress, a bulkhead slammed shut before them, blocking their most direct route of escape.

Ira could feel the worm that crawled through the fortress's systems, preying on weak programs and tearing them to shreds. He could feel it, and he knew it had found them.

"We must hurry," he said. The Sisters did not reply. A scream filled the halls behind them, one that seemed to reverberate within the walls themselves, howling up from the bowels of the planet. "Now!" Ira bellowed.

The party burst into a run, checking each corner as they passed it. Something... _wrong _pursued them. Nothing daemonic in origin, but enough to put their hackles on edge, something that set Ira's subroutines on fire.

Another scream, followed by the sounds of rending flesh and splashes of gore. It was closer, and it was hunting his Lady. Ira and the Sisters stumbled upon the victim as they turned a corner.

Sister Pollyana.

Her body had been turned inside-out, each organ squeezed of the essence that painted the wall behind her.

"What the _fuck_," the Palatine breathed, unaware of the words that passed her lips. Above them, the lights flickered, stuttering to life before drenching them in darkness once more.

At the end of the hallway, a figure appeared, lanky and covered in blood. Its head was bulky yet skeletal, bulbous yet streamlined. Pearl-white teeth shone red in the emergency lights, and an aperture on its forehead opened, revealing-

WRONG

_BROKEN_

WRONG

_UNWHOLE_

DIE

_HELP ME_

DIE

_PLEASE_

Ira choked on the air, unable to think, unable to breathe. He could not face this _thing_. This monster. The creature stepped forwards, pointing at the Lady Inquisitor with a clawed, many-knuckled finger.

_**DIE.**_

Ira didn't know if the word had been spoken, but could feel it in his mind, feel it push his very being into a small corner where all the implants at the Mechanicus' behest could not help him no no no.

And only then did he know what he faced.

"_Culexus_," he breathed. One of the Officio Assassinorum's most monstrous creations.

"Go," Sister Victoria said. She handed the Inquisitor to Sister Nanda and activated her thunder hammer. "With me, Sister Yulska! Sister Sho!"

They gave a battle cry, surely their last. Ira wanted to challenge the thing with her, use the party's combined prowess to bring it low. But the look in Sister Victoria's eye brokered no argument - she knew her fate. There was a flash of gold before Ira turned and led the remainder of the Sisters away. He dare not turn back.

Once more, screams filled the Recongrator's Headquarters, accompanied by the roar of bolter fire and the crackle of a thunder hammer.

The Lady Inquisitor twisted and turned, pulling at her carrier's ebony robes, moaning nonsense in insensate fear and agony. Ira's heart and augmentics could not keep up with the strain placed upon them. One glance at the assassin and he could not keep himself from shaking.

"Why's there an assassin here?" The Palatine bellowed, shaking Ira from his mindless stupor. "Why's it after the Inquisitor?"

Even if he had known the answers to her questions, Ira couldn't reply. He just wanted to run away. He wanted to take a thunderhawk to the _Scythe of Morning_ and bomb every inch of Kastile Secundus into nothingness.

Anything.

Anything to get away from the monster.

_No. _Ira's hands grasped his swords.

_NO._

His Lady needed him. He would not shame himself. No matter his enemy, he would stand to fight for His Lady. For the Sisters that screamed at his side, unleashing their bolters as their feet flew through the halls of the Recongrator fortress. He would fight to honor Sister Victoria's sacrifice, and the the silver cylinder that slapped at his chest.

He would fight for himself, a future Inquisitor, a servant of the Omnissiah.

The headquarters' antechamber was nearing. They were nearly free, even though they could hear the assassin's demented laughter echoing through the halls. It pursued them, _hounded_ them. Like no other human could. Ira wished that Amat had stayed behind. With a Vindicare on their side, the odds would be much better.

The Lady's servants dashed through the decontamination room, grey mist shrouding them, filling their lungs. Red alarms screeched as they pried open the doors to the antechamber, but they went ignored.

Sweat poured down Sister Eleven's face, running off Sanguinius's form like raindrops. The rest of the Sisters slapped new mags into their bolters. Whispered, hasty prayers escaped them.

The Palatine tore the bulkhead open and ushered her comrades through. As it slammed shut behind them, Ira activated his swords and pressed them to the bulkhead, sealing himself and the Sisters within the antechamber.

Artificial sunlight cast itself upon the fleeing group, mocking them with its brightness.

"He's here," the Lady Inquisitor said. "My reckoning." Her words seemed to surround them, reach up to the distant vaulted ceiling. Reckoning. Reckoning.

"Shh," Sister Nanda said, brushing the Lady's hair out of her face. "We shall keep you safe."

Ira prayed that they could keep her words. As they reached the end of the antechamber, he punched the elevator button. It whirred into action, its machine-spirits groaning in agony. They didn't like running on backup power.

"Spread out," the Palatine barked, waving at the massive pillars that lined either side of the room. "Stay hidden, and open fire once it emerges."

The Sisters went, knowing it meant their deaths. Ira watched them go, ivory tunics fluttering behind them. Sister Eleven racked her heavy bolter, ready to unleash a hail of death. The Palatine revved her Eviscerator, the scar on her lip twisting her lips into a vicious frown.

Ira readied himself as well.

Only Sister Nanda was unarmed, the delirious Inquisitor in her arms while a pair of bolt pistols hung at her hip

"How much longer?" the Palatine asked.

"Two minutes," Ira answered. The fortress was buried deep after all - the elevator would take some time to reach them.

So they waited. No one spoke, and the silence seemed to stretch into eternity. He knew the question burned in their minds - 'why was an assassin sent to kill the Lady Highest?' It was one he shared himself, but one that no one present bothered to answer. They had all heard the Culexus, felt its wrath made plain in the corpse of Sister Pollyanna.

As far as the assassin was concerned, they were all targets. At the opposite end of the hall, Malcador the Sigillite stared down at them all, judgemental and serene.

"Emperor protect us," one of the Sisters said. Ira couldn't tell which one. The bulkhead burst apart, shooting fire and superheated mist into the antechamber. The Order of the Sacred Rose erupted, pouring a salvo of bolter rounds into the breach. Detonations and the resounding echo of gunfire filled the hall - a blaring, triumphant roar. Sister Eleven howled a prayer while the Palatine directed her underlings' fire.

One minute until the elevator arrived.

The constant stream of fire turned to staccato reports, before it ceased entirely. Despite Ira's augmentations, he almost choked on the miasma of cordite and smoke that poured from the Sisters' bolters. His swords crackled with power, waiting, waiting.

Laughter filled the antechamber, a sound unlike any Ira had ever heard. It was the sound of a knife across steel, hissed and wrong wrong _WRONG_.

A shadow burst into being before Sister Macie, dodging her first strike with fluid grace before pressing its skeletal face into hers. A eruption of screeching noise

WRONG

UNWHOLE

WRONG

WRONG

_**WRONG**_

filled the antechamber, and Sister Macie was no more than a red stain on the statue of Malcador the Sigillite.

"For the Emperor!" Palatine Naja cried, charging forwards. Ira joined her, binary cant slamming his processes into overdrive. The time was now, do or die. On their shoulders rested the life of his Lady - the fate of the Imperium.

Only Sister Nanda remained behind, drawing a bolt-pistol from its holster.

The Assassin was all too happy to greet them, turning his bloated, distended head to face them. A pair of heavy bolter shells flew past him, each one sidestepped with ease. It was five against one, and Ira didn't like their chances.

Under Sister Eleven's supporting fire, they closed with the assassin. As they neared it, Ira's perception wavered, his processes growing sluggish and wane. Suddenly, his limbs felt like they were underwater, his swords like anvils, and his vision spun. He grit his teeth and pushed on.

_Focus. It's an illusion. Push. _

_PUSH._

_**ON**__._

Each Sister suffered as well before attempting to shake off the reality-bending effects of the assassin's equipment. The Palatine reached their target first, eviscerator raised high above her head. Then the assassin was behind her, faster than Ira could process.

Sister Emanuelle swiped at it with a chainsword, missing by inches. The Culexus assassin rolled past the strike, its clawed hands shooting up through her neck and brain. Palatine Naja roared, whirling her eviscerator around to catch the assassin.

No luck.

With sickening grace, the assassin withdrew his claws, and the Palatine's blow only managed to cleave Sister Emanuelle's body in half.

Ira leapt forward, plunging his sword forward, thrusting for the creature's heart. The assassin caught his wrist and twisted. With a metal shriek, his arm was ripped from its socket. A chorus of machine spirits screeched in agony, wailing at the violation of their sanctity.

But Ira felt nothing. Pain was a weakness of flesh.

Sister Eleven bull-rushed the assassin, twin-linked heavy bolter blaring all the way. Each shot went wide, unable to find purchase on the Culexus. It dodged her with ease, throwing an adamantium claw into her side as she barreled past. Sister Eleven howled in agony, her power armor rent and spraying blood. Several more steps and she collapsed to the floor, a hand pressed to her side, heavy bolter discarded.

Sister Lora opened fire with her bolter, an attempt to distract the assassin. Ira lunged forwards with his remaining arm. A pincer attack ensuring that there was no respite, no moment where the assassin could face a single opponent at a time.

It hardly mattered.

The assassin flowed around Ira, shunting an elbow into his back and throwing the Acolyte clear of the brawl. As he skidded across the floor, the assassin slipped underneath Sister Lora's legs, scrambling up her back before twisting her neck around with a clean and resounding _snap_.

Riding her corpse as it sank to the ground, he let loose another blast, a screech of

WRONG

FEAR

_**HELP ME**_

energy, one aimed at the Lady Highest.

Ira screamed, but his worries were for naught - Sister Nanda sacrificed herself, turning her back to the blast to shield her Lady.

The Sister of Battle burst apart. The Lady Highest tumbled to the floor, blood streaming from her mouth, eyes, and nose. On the floor, she twitched and convulsed, lips frothing with foam.

Sister Eleven recovered, lunging from the floor with a crackling power knife. The assassin kicked it out of her hands, mulching her fingers into a puddle of shattered bones.

They were going to lose.

Ira could see it as plain as day, as clear as the Omnissiah's truths. He struggled to his feet, his limbs jerking and twitching. His swords were missing. The assassin had snapped something in his spine, rendering his augmentations unresponsive and glitchy. A hundred repair processes and diagnostics scrawled through Ira's vision, but he paid them no mind.

Metal legs stumbled forwards, feet splashing through what was left of Sister Macie and Sister Emanuelle. Ira watched the Palatine and Sister Eleven battle on. They were so far away. Try as he might, they never seemed to get any closer.

They were all going to die.

_No. No! I can't, I can't I can't let it win!_

_NO!_

With a grimace, Ira pushed on. His feet picked up their pace. Right. Left. Right. Left.

Sister Eleven suffered another swipe of the assassin's claws, this one carving her stomach open and spilling her intestines across the floor. Only the Palatine remained upright, standing between her Lady and the assassin.

_Right. Left._

The Sister's strikes were harrowing, but the wide, sweeping arc of the eviscerator was easily dodged by the Culexus.

_RIGHT. LEFT._

Then the Palatine fell, a single claw protruding from her kneecap. Despite her attempts to stay upright, despite the furious roar that escaped her lips, she crumpled. In the opening provided, the assassin's skeletal visage snapped around, locking onto the Lady Highest.

Ira bellowed in rage and despair and defiance. He shut down every process, overrode every instinct-script as he rushed forwards. Sister Palatine swung her sword around, but not in time to save the Lady Highest.

Ira would not fail his Lady.

He screamed as everything went black.

* * *

The Lady Highest breathed deep. In a single moment, the terrible, choking fog that crippled her mind vanished into nothingness. Blood coated every inch of her, and the air was full of screams.

_Where am I? What's happening?_

She blinked, clearing her eyes of scarlet tears. Her head pounded and ached, her vision blurry and seeing double. Every part of her shook and rattled while foam flecked her lips. Bracing herself against the floor, she got to her knees.

_Find out what's happening._

Her duster wiped at her eyes, clearing them of blood. What they saw scarred her very soul.

The Recongrator's antechamber was a tapestry of gore and broken bodies. Gauntleted limbs were scattered about like refuse. Sister Eleven bellowed in agony, scooping up her guts with broken, trembling hands.

Palatine Naja bint Mutaa Al'Ibanhi stood behind a Culexus assassin, her eviscerator cleaving its head in half. The Lady Highest coughed, filling her fist with blood-flecked phlegm.

_The Culexus temple… Emperor protect me. _They had sent a Culexus after her. _Emperor protect me. _

The Palatine's eviscerator purred, grinding the assassin's brains into slop as the creature slumped forwards.

And then she saw what was left of Ira.

His body was a ruined mess, a meaty lump of broken steel and liquefied organs. Every inch of skin had been rent from his body, his red cloak tattered and unwhole.

The Lady Highest crawled forward, tears stinging her eyes.

_No. _

_Emperor, please, no._

She desperately wished that she was dreaming. That in a few moments the nightmare would be over, and she could get on with her work.

Nothing happened. Ira was gone, his synthetic eyes still and lifeless.

Dead.

"_NO!_"

Her screams meant nothing. Her acolyte was gone, his lact act ensuring that she lived on. She pulled what was left of his head into her lap as tears streamed down her cheeks, throat opening and closing, stealing her breath away.

_This is my fault._

She tucked a strand of cherry-red hair behind his ear, cradling the remnants of the face she found twenty years ago, sparks of hope and intelligence burning bright behind the soot-stains.

The Lady Highest hitched her breath, the sight of Ira's lifeless eyes too much to bear.

The Lady Inquisitor began to sob.

And Weiss Schnee let out a long, keening wail.

* * *

**A/N: Omnissiah grant you rest, Ira, and may the Emperor carry each Sister to His side.**

**I know a lot of people were expecting something chaos-related, but I left enough hints for people to uncover what was happening. I should clarify a few things about Culexus assassins though, both for lore-nerds and newbies. They carry the pariah gene, which means they are soulless and invisible to the warp. This also means that, around psykers, they can often create severe feelings of nausea and disorientation, with the feelings getting stronger the more powerful the psyker is (hence Weiss being totally debilitated). Also, Culexus assassins are normally depicted with only a single weapon - their headpiece that fires anti-warp energy. I gave this one a set of adamantium claws however, mostly to make the combat more entertaining than 'and then he liquefied another person'.**

**With all that being said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Up next... the Black Library.**


	68. Victory

**Chapter 67: Victory**

* * *

"_The Black Library is a place of maddened laughter and horrible, chilling sanity." - Inquisitor Bronislaw Czevak_

The eldar landing craft sped towards the Black Library, humming over mile after mile of glittering ruins. It had parked itself atop the corpse of a great city, one that had long ago faded from glory. The _Void-Whisper_ hovered atop them, the last familiar sight in the Webway to Yang.

It was far too quiet inside the craft. The kasrkin were moments away from vomiting, and they kept looking at the Black Library as if a tendril would snap out and claim them all.

Considering just how alien the eldar seemed right about now, Yang couldn't blame them. In fact, she felt a measure of trepidation herself. The Library was so massive, it seemed to be an act of nature rather than something artificial, a planet rendered into the form of a ship by the gods of time, tectonic might, and haunting ethereal beauty.

Even Amat seemed awed, his neck craning to take in the entirety of the primordial craftworld. He straightened his bomber's jacket, carefully aligning the wool collar. Yang didn't know why he decided to wear it, but it made her smile regardless.

The war-party was no less agitated, fidgeting and sharing furtive glances. Only Lossamdir seemed at peace. They all nearly jumped when a pair of fliers descended upon them, all-black slivers of night that danced about them with preternatural grace. Escorts.

Yang couldn't shake off the feeling that they were laughing at her.

"Any last words of wisdom?" She asked the eldar.

"A few," Garnet said, surprising her. She'd not expected a response.

"Like what?"

"We are here to fulfill a mission," he said. "Let us obtain the information we need and leave with all available haste."

"On that, xenos, we can agree," Darron said, resting his hellgun against his shoulder. For once, Yang didn't want to pick a fight with the grizzled Captain - especially now that they wore their grimm-masks. Probably an effort to appear menacing, even if the kasrkin were ignorant of what grimm-masks truly meant.

Yang rolled her shoulders, armored in simple flak plating. She didn't know what lay within the Black Library, but she hoped it at least had information on the Chariot. Otherwise, they had wasted valuable time.

Amat fell still, but Yang knew he was praying - silent behind his spy mask.

"Yang," Garnet said, turning to face her with a flourish of his warlock's cape. "There is something else you must know."

"What's up?"

"It is very rare for humans to gain admission to the Black Library, much less those that are psykers. The Harlequins that guard it are unpredictable yet stringent - be careful not to offend them. I saw the fate of Galaxy tied to you and what transpires here. Care must be taken."

Yang nodded. She'd be on her best behavior. If not, she always had Amat to help her through.

"And us?" Chera said.

"You will not be granted entrance," Garnet replied. "And before you raise an indignant cry, know that the rest of the war-party will not either. I pray to Isha that _any_ of us are."

Yang's fingers tightened around her power sword. It was just like her to risk everything like this, on a desperate gambit. Even more like Pyrrha, putting everything on some nebulous 'destiny'. Garnet was truly his mother's son.

_Fitting, I suppose_.

"Thirty seconds to docking," the pilot said. Yang stretched her neck and cracked her knuckles. She didn't want a fight, but it wouldn't do to be unprepared - no matter what Garnet said. Amat unslung his rifle and nestled it against his shoulder. Only one round sat in the chamber, the one meant for her. She patted his back, and he nodded.

The landing craft jostled as it attached itself to the Black Library. Even the esoteric eldar ships couldn't land with perfect smoothness, a small comfort in the face of the Black Library. With a subdued hiss, the bay doors opened, revealing a long hallway wrought from transparent crystal and veins of ebony.

Yang was the first one to disembark, her face set in a resolute grimace. Amat followed. Each step felt... odd, like the surface they walked on was barely present. Below her, she could see the ruins of the ancient city, desolate and bleak.

At the end of the hallway lay a wraithbone bulkhead, stained black instead of the cream-white corridors of the _Void-Whisper_.

_Deep breath, Yang. It's gonna be fine. You came here for a reason, after all._

When they reached the bulkhead, it slid open to reveal a Harlequin, one of the Black Library's guardians. He was tall, a full head larger than Lossamdir. His face was concealed behind a fluorescent white clown-mask, one with a smile that reached its ears and teeth the size of Yang's hand. An orange mohawk sprouted from his scalp, with a braid long enough to reach the checkered print that painted his leggings.

He was one of the most truly alien things Yang had ever seen.

"Is this the right place?" She asked, a joke that came across far too breathlessly. The Harlequin sniggered.

"Ooh, yes yes, you must the one called Yang Xiao Long?"

"I am," she said, straightening her back.

"Follow then, follow follow. Humans in the library, whatever will Master Cegorach say?"

A rhetorical question, one she didn't want to know the answer to - Garnet had told her of Cegorach, the eldar Laughing God, and the stories didn't settle her stomach. Instead of replying, she followed Garnet's example, remaining as stoic and driven as possible.

The Harlequin led them to a great entrance hall, one full of elegant statues depicting... well, Yang didn't know what they were. Eldar presumably, but too large and stylized. She preferred not knowing. The vaulted ceiling was invisible, shrouded by a blanket of false stars and shimmering auroras. Several other Harlequins fell into step with their guide, emerging from nothingness as if they belonged to it.

Silently enough to unnerve Maion.

Their guide stopped before the Library's true entrance, a colossal wraithbone work nearly four stories tall, engraved with scenes Yang didn't recognize. Even still, their gravity was apparent, the twisted, anguished faces of the figures evidence of apocalyptic suffering.

Noiselessly - a ludicrous notion for a door of that size - the entrance parted, just wide enough to fit a single figure through. He was smaller than the Harlequin that greeted them, as if his back was hunched. Unlike his compatriots however, he wore no gaudy mask or outlandish garments - he was clad in the blackest garb Yang had ever seen, his clothes dark enough to bend reality around them and render his true form unknowable. And his face... his face was devoid of makeup or decoration, a simple, honest face that seemed to exist solely to spite the madness surrounding it.

"Hi," he said simply, as if greeting a friend for lunch. The sound seemed to echo all around them, like he spoke in stereo. "Hello to all and sundry, and welcome to the Black Library. You bring an unusual number of humans with you, surely you do not wish them admission too?" He stalked towards them, an ebony river in fluid motion. Yang watched him closely, desperate to detect his intent or even gain a single clue about him.

"These ones have not mastered the chaos within their hearts, seen the breadth of the universe laid bare in its component parts."

"Who are you?" Garnet asked calmly. "We have been guided here, after all."

"I am the one known as Duulamor," the Harlequin said, "and it is my turn to guard our sacred door." His eyes took in the full measure of Garnet. "You are Smiling Garnet, a guise worn by a wounded heart. A heart that weeps with shame for what it has done, yet seeks answers for questions not yet won." Garnet gnawed on his lip, but did not reply.

"And you, Obsidian," Duulamor said, circling Lossamdir. "Most serious of the Soul-Wielder's spawn, trapped within an exarch's skin. Yes, yes, a truly curious lot that stands before me," he said, before erupting into maddened giggles. "A beautiful assortment, if only you could see."

"We need information," Yang said, stepping forwards. "The Chariot of Salvation. We need to find it before Josephus does."

At this, Duulamor cocked his head. He swooped towards her, before Amat stood in his way, exitus rifle braced.

"No need for that, Amat of the painted mind," Duulamor crooned, "military brat turned assassins' kind," he finished, his scarlet eyes boring into the assassin.

Yang rested a hand on Amat's leather-clad shoulder. And though he relaxed, his rifle did not waver.

"As much as I would like to sit around and play rhyming games," Yang said. "You've called us here for a reason."

"Strange of you, Yang Xiao Long, to speak of reasons, of purposes beyond your ken or quest, yes, quite, what an exquisite jest, one even Master Cegorach would enjoy, yes, yes he might."

Yang frowned. Whatever game Duulamor was playing, it was beyond her. Yet she could feel the sting of his words, words that sat ill within her.

"In truth," the Harlequin continued, "you care little about Josephus or his machinations, tiny agitations in the grand scheme that is the song of your life, mere mites that scrabble along the surface of a soul that is barely your own."

"Then what am I doing here?" Yang asked, deliberately ignoring his comment on her soul. "This isn't exactly an ideal vacation spot, you know."

"You'd be surprised," Duulamor said, waggling his finger at her like a didactic parent might. "Knowledge is precious food for one's young mind." He stooped low, past Amat and his rifle, close enough so that she could smell the Harlequin's breath. It reeked not of food, nor any mortal odor. It was something... else. Like laughing gas or cyanide, or rose petals, or-

Yang grimaced, but did not flinch away from the Harlequin. He was trying to fuck with her mind, or was doing so unconsciously, or was I?

"What? What's wrong with you?"

"You are here because you have been summoned, that is true."

I wasn't summoned, I've been here all along.

Who said that?

"Did I?" Yang asked, head spinning. She couldn't tell which way was down, or where she was or why.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Darron muttered. Duulamor swept away once more, and Yang could breathe again, her senses returning to her. _What the fuck... what the fuck is happening?_ Every second that passed, the entrance hall felt more and more like Dad's cottage. She swore she could hear the gulls, and had the other Harlequins always been dancing? What about the singing? Had they always been singing that song? The dirge of an entire species consigned to doom?

"Darron Marius," Duulamor boomed, "great scion of the kasrs, the Hell-Filler's son, husband to Chera, lovers entwined in the embrace of the battle long-won, servants to a woman that Does Not Belong. Do I intimidate you?" Duulamor asked. "I am but a simple clown, here to delight and amuse. Though you never expected to be here, am I right? Didn't mean to intrude?" Duulamor cackled. "Don't be afraid, you'll come to understand my mood. It's not often a Harlequin such as myself sees so true."

"If you have nothing for us, wise one," Lossamdir said, "Please release us. Time is of the essence."

"Time?" Duulamor inquired. "Ooh, now that is a fine jest. Can you not feel the years melting off your skin? Perhaps, oh Lossamdir, the strong and storied, you came here of your own volition. Or is it Obsidian that speaks? A half-breed who questioned his nature so quietly, when he was possessed with a voice that can shake worlds entirely?"

Around them, the Harlequins continued their dance, either not caring about their comrade's questions or moving in perfect synch with them. Their song had not ceased either, a long and lilting sound that pulled Yang's heart in two.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked.

"'Is this the right place?', you asked with a grin," Duulamor replied. "You must understand that not everyone is allowed within. This is a test of your sin," he added. "Without it, you cannot be allowed entrance, should chaos pollute you by a single inch."

"We are free of chaos, xenos!" Darron cried above the swelling lament. "We live in the light of the Emperor!"

"So you believe," Duulamor said. "A claim that has never been truly tested. You have seen daemons yes, but what of their nature? Can you see it? Understand it? Until that day passes, you must remain without."

"And what of us, then?" Maion asked, face hidden behind her helm. "What of us?"

"Maion, the mirror of her Grandmother," Duulamor said. "Wrought in her image you are, from your skin to your soul. A shadow thrust into a role that does not befit her. You ask the right questions, ah hee hee hee, ah ho ho ho. A soldiering mind so lacking in lessons. What of you, then, hmm?"

He turned to the rest of the war-party. "And you, Ysdrea, hated by your own mother? How terrible of her. A seed it was, yes, a small seed, one that grew to become the rage in which you shelter."

"You lie!" Ysdrea screeched, swords braced against an attack that would never come. "Get out of my head!"

"It is your soul that concern me," Duulamor said. "The Library lays it bare for all to see."

"And what of our souls then?" Amat asked, as calmly as he dared.

"Ah, Palla has given you wisdom," Duulamor said. "The Temple has given you strength, Weiss a mind, and Yang thoughts to fill it. Very well, I have played my game long enough."

Abruptly, the singing stopped and the dancers froze in place, forming a circle around the war-party. It seemed to Yang as if the universe itself had hit the pause button.

"Entrance shall be granted to visitors seven, though full access is forbidden." His finger lighted upon Yang. "You are the first, Little Dragon. Your friend shall follow," he said, pointing at Amat. "Onwards Vindicare, anon. Next is the exarch, host of Obsidian, and your subordinate Asillar. Smiling Garnet follows, favored by the Garden. Maion comes too, for her soul is the most ardent. And finally," he said, towering over the kasrkin, "Lieutenant Chera, of the Emperor's most puissant."

Chera blinked, taken aback by the Harlequin's invitation. "Me?" she asked.

"Is there another named Chera among you?" Duulamor asked. "Another Lieutenant among the Lady Inquisitor's chosen few?"

"But why?" Chera asked, lacing her fingers through her husband's.

"Master Cegorach likes your mask," the Harlequin said, before descending into a fit of laughter.

The ones allowed admission into the Black Library stepped forward. Yang was relieved she'd been allowed entrance, but Duulamor's display was enough to worry her. _Will I be able to keep my sanity in a place like this? What about Amat?_ She looked up at her friend. With his mask on, it was nearly impossible to read him. Nearly.

She looked ahead, into the brilliant light that spilled from the Library's entrance. _Whatever Garnet saw, it's up ahead. I'll puzzle out Duulamor's words later. I have to keep moving._

"Let us be away," the Harlequin said. "And prepare yourself."

The colossal door creaked open further, allowing enough space to admit the selected seven.

Yang swallowed and marched forwards. _Ever onwards_. Amat followed close behind a reassuring presence on her flank. Maion came next, trepidation reeking from every pore. Chera came last after exchanging a look with her husband.

Once they were inside the blinding light died away, and the entrance slammed shut behind them. They were within the Black Library.

True to its name, bookshelves by the hundreds soared upwards, each one large enough to contain the entire written works of Remnant. Mind-bending sculptures and fountains lined them, spilling out a silver liquid noiselessly. Glass towers adorned each row of books, and dozens of hallways led deeper into the Library, each one a store for more wonders.

Garnet frowned.

"What is the matter, young seer?" Duulamor said. "Is there something that brings you displeasure here?"

"I..." Garnet paused. "I was led here, I know it. By a song, I thought. One that... I don't know. It felt... familiar."

"Perceptive," Duulamor said. "For we Harlequins sent for you through another, more familiar sieve."

Yang swallowed, looking beyond Duulamor and taking in the Black Library's sights.

_Where to now? _

If they were going to find answers in one of the books, they'd be here for more lifetimes than even an eldar could survive. And rigorous study wasn't exactly her strong suit. Could they really find anything on Josephus in this madhouse?

"Ah, speaking of which…" Duulamor purred, snapping Yang from her thoughts.

A pair of figures approached from between the distant bookshelves, their gait slow and encumbered. But their destination was certain - the war party. One of the figures was clearly an eldar, judging by his tall and slender build. His companion however, was withered and hunched, her flowing white hair interrupted by a single streak of red.

"We have visitors Caelus," a voice sounded out through the Black Library, ancient yet familiar enough to rip Yang's heart from her chest.

"Mother," Garnet whispered.

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUN.**

**And so the brief Black Library arc begins. Also, I couldn't find any thorough (or satisfying) descriptions of the Black Library in any published 40k works, so I'm flying by the seat of my pants here. Hopefully you guys enjoyed the way I present it, even though there might be some inconsistencies with lore.**

**Anyway, let me know what you thought of the chapter! I know it was a little shorter than most, but I figured you wouldn't mind too much.**

**Until next time!**


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